


A Veil of Prophecy

by Ramzes



Series: Targaryens: Times of Glory [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maekar Targaryen was not always the hardened man we know from The Hedge Knight. Once, he was just a boy. Little did he know that his entire life would be a mere step in the fulfilment of a prophecy. A spinoff from my story One to Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You can get out of my chambers through the door or the window. The choice is yours. Make it quick before I make it for you!"

The familiar voice was so unexpected that Prince Baelor almost jumped from the bench where he was sitting with a book of naval strategy. At seventeen, he was determined to learn everything there was to learn about all battle tactics and he had spent a good few hours engrossed in the book but now it fell to the ground and he didn't even notice, his entire attention focused on the voices coming from his youngest brother's chambers. Maekar had kept to his chambers for more than a month, ever since it became clear that he had the speckled monster, the disease that was considered equally terrifying to greyscale. Baelor, along with everyone else had watched the flow of maesters coming in and out of Maekar's chambers in a hurry, had heard the panicked voices screaming for this or that. But no one had seen the boy since they had determined what his illness was. It was highly contagious and no one but the maesters was allowed to enter or leave Maekar's rooms - even they did that very rarely. A week ago, the isolation had officially ended, with Maekar, miraculously, still alive and proclaimed to get better. But he had yet to leave his chambers or let anyone but the King and Queen in and that left only two possible explanations: he was either still too weak or he was terribly disfigured like almost everyone who had lived through the disease. True, their mother had said that he was recovering but what did recovering mean for a person who had suffered the speckled monster? It often caused blindness and people were considered recovered because well, they had come out of it alive. And how on earth had Maekar even contracted it? Why wouldn't he leave his chambers? Albeit young, he was never the one to shirk a challenge. But the speckled monster was no ordinary challenge.

An elderly voice started muttering something before Maekar cut him off again, "You call this swill 'good'? Very well, then you can drink it. I am waiting. No? Then take it away. Take _yourselves_ away, all of you."

All of a sudden, Baelor made his decision. Soon afterwards, he was in the building, three floors up and right in front of the door behind which the quarrel was still going on. Maekar was rejecting all the potions maesters were trying to give him, proclaiming that he was feeling just fine without their vile concoctions and he'd feel even better once he saw them leaving. Baelor took a deep breath and pushed the door opened. Initially, the sight stunned him and he couldn't believe his eyes. There was none of the scars he had mentally prepared himself to see. No pits in the skin. No fallen eyelashes. It was just Maekar. When Baelor stepped near, he saw some scars marring his brother's cheeks. They might never disappear fully but they would fade to some extent. And they were not the terrible disfigurement Baelor had reasonably expected. His relief was so profound that he could practically hear the sound of his own blood running through his ears.

"I am still me."

Baelor blinked before he realized that he was the one Maekar was addressing now. He nodded. "I see. How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Maekar said. He looked too pale even for him, his face whiter than his hair, his lips bitten all over, blue veins protruding under his skin. His nightclothes looked too big on him. But his eyes were flashing the same raging annoyance that was so often addressed at Baelor himself. "I'll feel better as soon as I see the backs of these," he added, shooting dirty looks at the maesters.

"His Grace insists that he rises from his bed right now when he can't even sit up yet," the nearest maester explained to Baelor in undertone. "He needs to rest three more days, at least, but he doesn't want to hear about this."

" _He_ is not deaf," Maekar snapped. "So you can stop talking about _him_ like you are already making plans for _his_ funeral. And let me tell you, just another day, and this room will truly turn into my tomb. Make them leave?" he turned to Baelor.

Baelor hesitated. He was firmly of the mind that too much care was not necessarily a good thing but he could not help but see that his brother had yet to regain his strength for the smallest motions. Maekar could not even turn to one side, propped on his elbow, and take the goblet of water with his other hand. The water splashed over the pillows.

"You know, I might be more inclined to say yes if you ask nicely," Baelor said. "If you say please."

Maekar's face fell. "Very well," he spat. "Forget that I asked."

Baelor chuckled. It was Maekar in full spirit again. He'd never ask for anything. He turned to the maesters. "Leave now. I promise you that my brother will stay in bed until tomorrow."

"What?" Maekar and a young maester exclaimed at the same time.

"Do you want to rise tomorrow, or in three days time?" Baelor asked. "Should we ask Mother?

Maekar glared at him but kept silent.

The Grand Maester accessed the situation and nodded at Baelor with newfound respect before taking his people out.

"Don't leave the potions behind!" Maekar yelled after them and one of the maesters returned to collect them before leaving with insulted air.

"You know, they were only doing their duty," Baelor said as soon as they were alone. "You gave them quite the fright. You gave the scare to all of us. And I see why they would think that your condition is still troublesome."

"The potions were more troublesome!" Maekar argued and Baelor went to open the curtains, making the room look more like a bedchamber and less like a tomb. When he returned to the bed and helped Maekar drink, he noticed his brother's peculiar look.

"What is it?"

"You thought I had become… like all the others who survived, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Baelor admitted.

For a moment, Maekar looked at him with all the indignation of a thirteen-year-old boy who wanted to ask _How dare you presume that an illness would get the better of me?_ But then he turned his head aside. "So did I, for a while," he admitted. Then, a malicious grin slowly made its way across his face. "And so thought our friends Aegor and Daemon, I have no doubt. I wish I could be there to see the look of Aegor's face when he realizes that he isn't in luck."

Baelor sighed. It was so typically Maekar, not to let go of his grudges even now. Not that Daemon and Aegor were ready to let go of theirs, of course. He sat next to the bed, unwilling to discuss the matter. "You know how many people die from the speckled monster?" he asked.

"Very many."

Baelor rolled his eyes. "Don't ever say this in front of Father because he'll arrange additional language lessons  before you can say _But I know that_! You know how many were left disfigured?"

"Almost everyone," Maekar said and yawned.

Baelor looked around. The silver ewer with a ruby cap kept his attention for longest. "You have been preserved for something. Something or someone. That's what I think."

Maekar rolled his eyes. "Yes, the fourth son of the King is so very important." Then, he grinned. "I know, I'll be entrusted with a vital task: to hit the King on the head with my mace whenever said head becomes too big."

"I don't think Father would be in danger of such a thing," Baelor said. "Ever."

Maekar smirked. "I didn't mean Father," he said and promptly fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_A few years later…_

The shaking that startled him awake was firm, agitated and very unfeminine but then, this woman was known to be very unwomanly when she wanted to achieve certain things. What these things were for today, Maekar was too sleepy to find out.

"Finally! I was starting to think I'd have to turn you over. I think you'll be able to sleep through an earthquake."

Maekar blinked to chase sleep away. His mother left the candle she was carrying on his nightstand and leaned over him, propping her elbow on his chest to have a better look at the bed and pressing the air out of his lungs in the process. Then, she drew back and knelt to look under the bed.

Maekar looked at her, the amazement of her actions waking him fully. "The servants here clean under the bed as well as everywhere else, I assure you, Lady Mother," he said dryly. "May I ask what it is that you are looking for?"

The Queen glared at him and opened the wardrobe, finding nothing. "You know only too well what I am looking for, Maekar. Where is she?"

Maekar would like to raise his eyebrows, the way Baelor did when he wanted to express amusement but he knew that with these silver eyebrows of his, the effect would be lost. His eyebrows and eyelashes were so pale that they were practically invisible. It was not fair. Instead, he had to rely on his voice alone, especially in this chamber full of shadows. The only light came from the two candles – the one his mother ws holding and the one he had left burning before he fell asleep. It was carved to mark the passage of time and right now, it showed him that the dawn was nowhere near. What was his mother doing at his bedchamber in this hour?

"I suppose you're asking about Aelinor?" he inquired. "I imagine she's fast asleep in her own bed, Lady Mother."

"Is she?" Myriah Targaryen's voice was icy. "I was left under the impression that she shared yours quite frequently."

Maekar sighed with exaggerated patience. "Do you see her anywhere near?" he asked. "And even if your ideas were true – and I am not saying that they are – Aelinor and I are going to wed, so why is it suddenly so important?" he asked.

The Queen looked away, knowing that she'd never be able to explain. Her children were Targaryens through and through, even Baelor who resembled her Dornish ancestors the most. They would never understand her secret joy when politics had dictated that Baelor married a lady who was not his sister. This kind of incest was revolting to her, although she'd never acknowledge it aloud. She had tried to argue with Daeron about this but even he, her so learned and intelligent husband, did not understand. So she had discreetly done all she could to thwart any plans for her daughter marrying one of her sons. She had never considered the idea of actual attraction between them.

"Since you are going to wed Lady Naeryn, I have no intention of having this conversation with you," she said. "Put something on. Something plain. We are going out."

Taken aback, Maekar complied. His mother looked aside, tapping her foot impatiently while he was putting on the plainest garment he could find in the haste. Then, they went in the yard where two shadows waited for them. Maekar noted that none of them was Ser Gwayne Corbray who usually accompanied the Queen everywhere. No, they were both people Myriah had brought with her from Dorne.

The Queen clasped Maekar's hand and headed for the nearest gate. Her attendants followed them close.

King's Landing was still sleeping and recovering from the night sprees. Skirting around piles of faeces and garbage, Maekar instinctively reached for the knife at his belt each time he noticed a human shadow. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Dornishmen doing the same. His mother squeezed his hand.

"Keep your hood down," she hissed. "With this head of yours, we can as well carry the dragon banner in front of us," she went on. "I want no one to know that the Queen has brought her son to a seer. Do you understand? It is true that many people seek Eliar for his gift but it is still officially frowned upon."

Maekar nodded, deciding that now, it wasn't the moment to claim yet again what he thought of seers and prophecies. His parents knew it only too well. The latest madness of these frauds was that he was to marry not Aelinor but a Naeryn Velaryon because someone who was apparently a Prince Who Was Promised would be born of their line… In the name of all gods! And his father, as smart as he was, actually _believed_ this? His mother was easier to read: she simply did not want him to marry Aelinor because, while quite negligent about matters as virginity and decorum, Dornish were firmly against incest. She would proclaim she believed Daemon was the Warrior reborn – although gods knew that there were already too many of those who really thought so and Maekar did not like it one bit – if it suited her purpose.

Still, he knew that his mother really respected the famous seer and maester. Eliar was Dornish like her and he had been one of those she had sent for when her children had been dangerously ill. Maekar knew Eliar had been one of the people who had attended him when he was fighting the speckled monster. But he did not remember him, just like he did not remember anything else about this period. Aside from this, he had never seen Eliar in person.

He was stunned at how shabby the house his mother finally stopped in front of was. Surely a famous seer like Eliar the Dornish could afford a better abode? Honestly, Maekar expected that the door would fall apart as soon as one of his mother's men started banging on it.

Inside, things were no better. The house was filled with shadows, the staircase looked as if it wouldn't hold them. Maekar hoped they wouldn't actually use it.

His mother took out a pouch of velvet and placed it in his hand. Maekar looked at her, not understanding.

"Go," the Queen said. "You must see him alone. When you're done, pay him."

Maekar hesitated. "Mother, I don't think…"

"Then don't think at all," she cut him off. "Don't be late. We must be back before dawn."

Maekar silently followed the boy who had opened the front door for them. He was about thirteen, just a few years younger than Maekar himself, and obviously scared of him. Many people were. Maekar did not care.

The house was full of a strange bitter smell that made his throat constrict. They did not go up the ruining staircase Maekar had first seen but another one, in the back of the house, even more ruined and creaking. The smells became stronger. It was strange but Maekar was reminded of the smells in training yard and forges – bittersweet and metallic.

"Seer!" the boy cried. "The King is here!"

Maekar's skin suddenly crawled.

The first thing he noticed in the study was the huge portrait. He did not recognize it immediately but when he did, he was completely taken aback. It was his maternal grandfather, the one he knew from the portraits in his mother's chambers – but here, he was young, much younger. In fact, he was Maekar's own age – broad-shouldered, imposing, a real ruler in the making, and still so young, so untouched by life. It felt weird.

"You resemble him," a voice said from the shadows behind him. "Put your hair and eyes aside, and you'll be the spitting image of him."

Maekar had often been told that he was a pure Targaryen despite his Dornish heritage. No one who looked at him, with this crown of a silver hair and violet shade of eyes, could doubt this. But now, he felt that he and the young man in the portrait could practically be twins.

The study was dimly lit by a few torches. Maekar could make out the lines of a few sofas and tables, as well as a few pots of… sand? He squinted.

"He was my benefactor, you know." The seer was King Daeron's age, tall and gaunt, black-bearded. His red robe caught the light. He stared at Maekar with a faint smile, completely unfazed by the Prince's lack of response.

"I won't be," Maekar said. "I don't believe in what you are doing."

The seer raised an eyebrow. "Sit down, Your Grace, if you please."

"I don't."

Eliar did not lose his serenity. "Very well. Tell me then, why are you here, Maekar of House Targaryen?"

"I don't know. I suppose because my lady mother wants you to convince me that it is my duty to wed Naeryn Velaryon. To sell me a stunning story of a prophecy, I mean."

The man sighed. "Do you really think so?"

Maekar thought hard about this. "No," he finally confessed. "But her old nursemaid, she's been acting weird around me for a while, cowering and muttering nonsense. And I know my mother believes in her words and so called visions."

"OId Lelia does have the sight," the seer said. "Sit down, my prince," he said again and this time, Maekar obeyed without knowing why. It just seemed like the right thing to do, to obey this man who was so serene and composed. "What is she saying?"

"You are the seer." Maekar scowled. "Shouldn't you be the one to know?"

The seer sighed again. "As I said, you are just like your grandfather. No, my prince. I don't read people's minds. And I never claimed that I did."

Something in the calm way Eliar admitted that he did not know everything suddenly took all Maekar's defences down. Frauds were supposed to claim to be omniscient, weren't they?

"The boy who brought me here," he suddenly heard someone say and realized it was him. "He said, _The King is coming_. Why did he say this? I am glad my mother weren't there to hear."

In the dim light of the candles, the man's face suddenly looked more drawn, more troubled. "You don't want to be king?"

"No, I don't," Maekar said without any hesitation. "I'd rather leave it to my brothers. Fortunately, Baelor is just the man for the job."

Eliar was looking at him silently. Maekar barely suppressed a shudder. He could feel these dark Dornish eyes baring his entire being, up to the deepest recesses of his soul. _It is only in my head_ , he told himself. It is the hour, the candles, the red robe… _He knows how to create effects._

"I believe you," the seer said. "But there are not many of those who will believe you. I see in you, though… I see your hunger for glory. I see triumph and weaknesses… I see a great fear."

"I don't fear anything," Maekar snapped, although he knew it was not true. He feared many a thing, and the first of them was failure.

"But I don't see a longing for a crown," Eliar went on, as if Maekar hadn't said a thing. "And yet it will be yours…"

"No," Maekar said sharply and rose at once, knocking the nearest torch over. The long fringes of the damask of a sofa immediately caught fire. "No! Do you realize that I can require your beheading for treason for this?" he demanded. "And do not think my lady mother will even try to save you!"

Ever so calmly, Eliar put the fire down. Then, he looked at Maekar. "Do you want to see the futures?" he asked, as if the Prince hadn't just made a death threat that he could make true. Again, Maekar's distrust went down. _What is he doing to me_ , he asked himself helplessly.

"The futures? More than one?" he asked.

Eliar went to the nearest pot of sand, motioning for Maekar to follow. Took out a baking dish. "Take a handful of sand," he ordered. "Keep it in your hands. Let your blood warm it. Now, let it sift between your fingers and into the dish. This is for what could be. Stare hard."

Maekar did, feeling stupid. It was just sand. But in a few moments, when images started forming, his breath came short. It was darkness. He wasn't sure how he knew it but he did. It was darkness, and hopelessness, and failure that engulfed the entire world, and he wanted to scream, and couldn't. It should not come to pass. It should not.

"Take a handful of sand," the seer said. "Keep it in your hands, then let it sift. This is for what could be. Stare hard."

This time, it happened faster. As soon as the last grain of sand touched the dish, inside a fair face swam. And then the darkness again, but this time, it was pierced by a red star bleeding and a sword of light bringing hope and breathing life into everything. Maekar released the breath he had not realized he was holding.

"Take a handful of sand," Eliar said. "Keep it in your palms and let it sift. This is for what will be. Stare hard."

Now, Maekar was standing invisible among a crowd of people who were all weeping. He could feel the stinging in his own eyes but there was no wetness on his cheeks, for he had not cried since he was a child. In front of him, there was a bed with a canopy, and he immediately realized that there was something awful on this bed, something that he should not see, and he tried to stay where he was but his legs did not obey his will anymore and carried him to where the canopy was divided to reveal…

"Gods, no," he whispered and shook himself out of his stupor. He felt the seer's hand on his forehead, felt the goblet touched to his lips, and drank thirstily.

"What did you see?" Eliar asked.

Maekar did not answer immediately. But then he did. Everything he had seen burst from his lips, from the darkness, to Naeryn Velaryon and the sword of light, and the bed…

"Who was lying on the bed?" the seer asked. "Was it someone you know?"

Maekar shook his head. "I don't know. It was, and it wasn't… You see, I couldn't make out the face…"

The seer looked thoughtful, his hands folded across his chest. "I see. It was what scared you, wasn't it? You expected to see someone you loved… or someone you hated… and you didn't know which one. It was a man, wasn't it? With a mark of violence upon him?"

Maekar shivered again. "How do you know?"

The seer looked at the baking dish. "The sand arranged for you, Your Grace, but once arranged, it speaks to everyone who can read it."

"Then you can tell me what it means!" Maekar demanded. "You know it – you must know!"

But the Dornishman shook his had and helped him back to the sofa where Maekar drained another goblet of water. "No future is set in stone, Your Grace. You must find your own way for it to mean anything. I can only show – and show I did."

"I wish you hadn't." Maekar's voice was soft, subdued.

For a long time, there was silence. The torches hissed and crackled.

"I am sure you wish it," the seer finally said. "But your coming to me, it was also part of your destiny. Your fate will come true. It will not be the fate you wish for, Maekar Targaryen, but you will make it come true."

He gave him a look Maekar did not tolerate in anyone – a look of sympathy with a touch of pity. But now, he barely noticed. He stood up and at the last minute, remembered about the pouch. "This is for you," he said. "I won't visit you anytime soon."

"I don't expect it. May gods protect you, Your Grace."

His mother waited back where they had parted. Behind her, the two attendants looked around, tense and ready to jump at the slightest shadow of a threat.

"What did he tell you…" Myriah started and then gasped. "Gods! Just look at yourself! Are you well? What did he say?"

"Let's get out of here," Maekar replied.

"Can you walk?" the Queen asked worriedly. "Do you want some water? What happened? Oh why did it ever occur to me to bring you here!"

"I can walk," Maekar said. "Let's just get out of here!"

By the time they reached the Red Keep, he was shaking so hard that one of their companions literally had to keep him upright. He was saying something but Maekar, still captive to the visions the sand had showed him, did not listen; Myriah, looking at him, paler than him, did not hear.

But the night was far from over. In Maekar's chambers, someone rose from a chair and they all froze. Behind him, Ser Galend, one of Maekar's oldest companions, spread his arms helplessly.

"I've been waiting for you in hours," the King said. "Lelia told me where you were. What was this whim of yours, Myriah, to bring him to the seer in the middle of the night… Just look at him!"

"I am fine," Maekar managed. "I'm going to bed."

But he was shaking so hard that when his mother's attendant stepped aside, Maekar swayed unsteadily. His father caught him before he hit the wall.

"That's it. I am calling a maester," King Daeron said.

Maekar looked at his friend and saw how Ser Galend firmly shook his head. "There is no need," he said. "Ser Galend will attend me just fine."

"You don't need an attendant," the Queen said. "You need a maester."

"Would you just leave me alone?" Maekar snapped though his clattering teeth. "Wouldn't you both just leave me alone, _finally_?"

He headed for his bedchamber, praying that he did not fall down in the process. Ser Galend followed him like a shadow, closed the door behind them and caught him as he was sliding down along it. They both held their breath until they heard the closing of the door announcing that the royal couple had retired.

"It was a close call," Ser Galend finally sighed and looked at Maekar. "What happened? Where did she take you?"

Aelinor appeared from behind the canopy. "What happened?" she whispered. "I have been here for no longer than a minute when Father came, so I couldn't even leave. I just stayed here and waited for him to decide to wait for you inside. Where were you? For god's sake, Maekar! You are as pale as ashes."

"I am cold," he breathed, and Ser Galend hurried for the fireplace.

"I'll stoke the fire," he said and did just that. Then, they started to undress Maekar who was not able to assist them too much. Aelinor was clad only in a nightgown t but she was so worried that she did not feel shy in front of Ser Galend.

"Come here," Aelinor said when they led him to the bed and Ser Galend discreetly left. "I'll warm you."

He looked at her. "Do I look like someone who… who can achieve anything of the sort right now?" he managed to snap, and she rolled her eyes.

"I am glad to see you're getting better. "

He did and stayed close to her, absorbing the warmth of her body and trying to get himself under control because that was certainly not the way he intended to spend what might very well be their last night together.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two years later…_

It was still snowing. Or was it yet? Maekar had lost count of the many times the thick white mass had started and stopped pouring for the last weeks. They were just about to rejoice in the slightly warm weather when the snowing would start anew. From his vantage point up on the castle battlement, he stared out upon the frozen beauty and willed it to cover the army under their walls, to tear the black three-headed dragon on their banners. Of course, snow did not listen… But it had covered the sights Maekar hated most – the newly dug graves in the outer yards, the hollows in the earth where missiles had landed. From the stables, a few cats were mewing – they were hungry. _Well, they are not the only ones_ , the Prince thought.

The cold soon forced him to seek shelter inside, not that it made much difference. There were only the beds and a few tables left to them – they had burned everything else to warm themselves. As he was entering the great hall of High Bridge, Maekar saw Shiera Seastar gliding out, as graceful as ever. But she was shivering slightly, rubbing her hands together, as cold as any of them. Her face was gaunt with malnourishment and the recent illness, her waxy complexion could not be concealed even by her famed beauty. He had thought he'd like to see her like this – he had never liked any of the so called Great Bastards, and now least of all – and he was surprised to find out that he felt pity for her. She was another victim of the bloody rebellion – Shiera Seastar who Maekar had thought could never be a victim of anything. But he was glad that she held true to the rationing of warmth they had established. They kept fires burning only in the kitchen and the great hall, for they lacked firewood. And the great hall could not contain everyone, so they warmed themselves in turns. Only the ailing could stay near the open hearth all the time – and these were growing in number, so there were always a few figures wrapped in blankets near the flame. But once they had recovered from their fever, both Shiera and Aelinor had joined the ranks of those with rationed food and warmth. Maekar saw his sister coming through the other door to take her share.

The faces around him were grim and gaunt – and one less than they should have been. "Where is Baelor?" Maekar asked sharply, holding out his hands for warmth.

"I am here," his brother said from behind Aelinor. His eyes still glistened with fever. Three months ago, the court had continued on its way from Summerhall to King's Landing, leaving Aelinor and Shiera who were battling fever, with their attendants. Maekar and Baelor had come from two different directions with the news that Daemon Blackfyre had declared himself the rightful king – and he had followed suit. The fact that the Crown Prince was in High Bridge meant that the siege should last till the castle surrender – and they didn't want to, although by now they had eaten their own horses one by one. Maekar had hated that. But they had no more grain to feed the animals and less and less to feed themselves, so the horses had followed the castle livestock. In the middle of all that, Baelor had taken ill with the fever the girls had just recovered from.

"You should be near the fire," Maekar told his brother. "It is for the ailing."

"Which I am not," Baelor said. "Not any more."

"Well, that's a lie if I ever heard one…" Maekar muttered. "Have you eaten?"

Baelor shrugged. "I figured I'd better wait for my portion along with the others."

"You would," Maekar spat, hunger and anxiety driving him to attack the nearest target which just happened to be his brother. "You realize that should you die, we can as well just open the gates to Blackfyre?"

They were on strict rationing and the young Targaryens had contributed greatly to the people's morale by insisting that the meager provisions be shared equally. Usually highborn took more than what they were justly due. But Baelor had been treated as an ill man, not a fighting warrior. Now he seemed ready to remedy the situation… when he was just not strong enough to and Maekar was furious with him. Should they lose Baelor to the illness _or_ Blackfyre, they would surely lose the war. The young heir to scholarly Daeron was the one thing that held the loyalty to half of those who were still loyal… which took Maekar back to what he intended to do. "Come on," he said and looked at his brother and sister to indicate that he meant both. "You too, Galend," he added to his companion. Ser Galend who was nursing a wound on his sword arm near the fireplace, rose silently and followed. "Send Lord Rivers to my chamber," he ordered a nearby servant.

"And Lady Shiera," Aelinor said and he sighed. She was right, of course. Shiera might not have as much to lose as the rest of them – Bittersteel would make it sure – but she was still with them. Still loyal. She had the right to know. And besides, if he didn't tell her, Bloodraven would.

"And Lady Shiera," he agreed and led the way to the staircase.

"What do you have in mind?" Baelor asked curiously.

Maekar was still angry with him, though, so he spat, "Sometimes requiring that you eat."

Behind his back, Baelor and Aelinor looked at each other exasperated.

In Maekar's chamber, by now stripped of any furniture but the bed, they found Ser Willem Wylde and Ser Ronald Crackehall, the two Kingsguard caught in the siege with them. Lord High Bridge soon arrived, followed by Shiera Seastar and Bloodraven. In the cold that frosted their breath in the air, Brynden Rivers' skin looked even paler, as if he were already dead. The castle's old maester huffed and puffed while he was struggling with the stairs but finally there he was.

"So?" Baelor asked again. "Will you finally tell us what's going on?"

"What's going on is that the people here have endured enough." Maekar pulled his cloak tighter. He had long ago stopped finding it odd that he went fully cloaked and hooded in his own bedchamber. "Another two weeks, and we'll all be dead from hunger. Father would have sent help if he could but obviously his people are engaged elsewhere."

There were a few grim nods at this. The lack of news was one of the things that tormented them most. Daemon's people shot all the ravens coming toward the castle, so they were desperate for news and could rely only on their intuition.

"It's time to put an end to this," Maekar said. "My lord High Bridge, you should offer to surrender the castle. I feel sure that you'll be able to get generous terms from the pretender, that he'd let the garrison go free."

Everyone looked at him stunned. Ser Willem's jaw actually dropped. Baelor recovered fast, though, and his shock was replaced by curiosity. "I cannot believe that you'd suggest surrender. You know what will happen if Daemon lays his hands on _both_ of us. So I ask you once again, what do you have in mind?"

Maekar smiled, pleased that someone understood. He had no intention of surrendering, no intention of sticking the kingdom with only Aerys and Rhaegel as heirs, not counting the children because the others would not count them either. No, that would be disastrous."Well, I am planning an escape before the castle surrenders. The three of us won't be here when Blackfyre comes." He indicated himself, Baelor, and, to everyone's shock, Bloodraven.

"Escape?" Baelor asked. "How? By flying over the wall?"

"Almost." Maekar smiled again, the plan sounding more and more attractive as he relayed it. "We'll be lowered down from the tower on the moat… it is iced-over, right? Everything around is frozen solid – the earth, the streams. We should be able to reach Storm's End in safety."

"Absolutely not!" the maester cut in. "The Prince cannot go there, in the cold! He'll die."

"As I see it, I'll die anyway," Baelor said. "I don't have much to lose." He turned to his brother. "So you are proposing to walk right through Daemon's lines?"

Maekar barely resisted the urge to shift his weight. Now, as he heard it spoken aloud, the idea did not sound so great at all. "Yes, I do."

"This is the maddest idea I've ever heard," Baelor judged and grinned. "When do we try it?"

"Your Grace!" the maester protested.

Maekar looked at his brother and laughed. As annoyingly perfect as Baelor was, he was the one who understood, always. It was strangely… soothing. "Tonight… after it is full moon. If we are lucky, it will still be snowing, so there won't be any traces left of our passing."

"I am surprised that you have included me," Bloodraven put in smoothly. Maekar's dislike of him was no secret to anyone.

Maekar glared at him. "You can stay here and greet the traitors if you like," he snapped. The fact that Blackfyre and Bittersteel had a special hatred reserved for their half-brother was no secret either. He could expect no mercy of them. Especially of Bittersteel. "But I don't leave people behind."

"Still, you seem ready to leave _us_ ," Aelinor said calmly. Her lips were blue with cold. A few years ago, Maekar would have taken her in his arms to share their warmth. Now he could only offer her an extra cloak. "I have no desire to become a pawn in Daemon's hands either. Or rather, those who tell him what he should think."

"It isn't the same thing," Maekar said.

"I know. I know I am not as precious as you two are…"

"I am not saying this…"

"But I will not become Daemon's captive either, Maekar. No, I am coming with you."

"You are not," her brothers said at the same time. "It might cost you your life, Aelinor," Baelor went on. "Daemon is not our only enemy, the weather is also one of these."

She shook her head under the hood. "Father cannot be seen making any concessions to get me back. They already think him weak. And while I have no doubt that Daemon won't hurt me, I don't think he needs a jewel to his victory."

"Her Grace is right," Ser Roland said reluctantly. "We should take her with us."

Baelor and Maekar looked at each other and both sighed resigned. "But to you," Maekar snapped at Shiera. "There is no argument. It is bad enough with one woman with us. I won't have _two_ of you."

She smiled. "That's fine," she said. "I might kill Aegor when he's sleeping."

Bloodraven's head jerked up sharply. "She's coming along," he said.

" _Fine_ ," Maekar spat and glared at the two women. "But if you slow us down, I am leaving you behind and that's it!"

They both nodded. "And now," Shiera said and smiled brightly. "I think we'd better start sewing cloaks. White cloaks." She winked at Ser Willem who turned red. He was still young enough to be unable to resist her charm. "I've always liked you in white."

* * *

_Two days later…_

"Open up," Maekar shouted, "for the Crown Prince!"

The guard at the massive wall of Storm's End did not answer immediately, probably too stunned by such a foolish statement. "The Crown Prince is under siege at High Bridge," he finally yelled back. "What are you trying to achieve by spreading such tales?"

Baelor willed his teeth to stop clattering and failed. Since they had bought horses in a town near High Bridge – only four since the three royals and the two bastards did not dare show themselves because of their too recognizable features and Ser Willem, Ser Ronald and the local lad who was guiding them could not very well buy eight without rising suspicions – they had traveled and traveled, fighting the cold and in his case, the fever that still lingered. All he wanted was a hot bath and something to eat and this man was the last thing that stood between him and his heart's desire. He reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, then did the same with Maekar's who was in front of him on the horse. The guard saw their faces, gave a yelp of surprise and a moment later, a horn sounded.

"I swear," Bloodraven muttered as they rode to the lowering drawbridge, "I'll never hear the phrase _When hell freezes over_ without remembering these two days."

* * *

_A day later…_

"Where are they!"

The men of the surrendered garrison were trying to keep a low profile but an enraged Daemon Blackfyre was truly an impressive sight, all silver rage and flashing sword.

"I told you," Lord High Bridge said as meekly as he could. "They aren't here."

"Well, they must be!" Daemon spat and spun around, as if he expected his intended captives to spring out of nowhere, although he knew that had they been here, they would have been the first one he'd meet. Baelor Breakspear was not the one to hole in expecting the strike to fall. Daemon had always respected that about him and he had had no desire to humiliate him or Maekar, or even Bloodraven. Aegor had been the one anticipating their meeting with a great deal of gloating pleasure... and anticipation, regarding a certain half-sister of theirs. But now, things had changed. Now, he'd push them at their knees and keep them there until they fall down with exhaustion… as soon as Aegor and the other men looking for them returned…

Among the garrison, Ser Galend smiled, enjoying the panic among the men who were running up and down, looking for the prizes that had escaped and shouting in anger and frustration. No, he was glad now that his prince had left him here to nurse the arm that had been almost separated from his body right before the beginning of the siege. He would not have missed this for all the whores in King's Landing.

He would not have liked to be in Lord High Bridge's shoes, though. At the end of it, the man might find himself well castleless. Blackfyre's men were all but tearing High Bridge apart. He should really inform Maekar about the lord's plea, assuming that he lived to see the Prince again and the Prince lived to reach Storm's End while there was still warmth in his body, and Galendsomehow escaped Blackfyre's rage which was no sure thing at all because right now the Black Dragon seemed ready to break his sworn word and hang all Targaryen's men…

Someone grabbed him and shook him so hard that the arm that was far from healed almost fell down. Purple eyes met his. "Where are they!" Aegor Bittersteel snarled.

Numb with pain but far from intimidated, Ser Galend even smiled. "I do not know. Have you tried Lady Shiera and Lord Brynden's bedchamber?"

In a moment, Bittersteel drew his sword. But Blackfyre spun around and stopped his brother with a commanding gesture. "You do not draw sword to a man who cannot defend himself," he snapped.

Bittersteel shook with rage but stepped aside. Blackfyre squinted at Ser Galend. "I know who you are," he said. "I know you've been with Maekar for a very long time. I am stunned that he could leave you behind like this. Didn't he fear for your safety at all?"

"He knew you would not harm a wounded man," Ser Galend said calmly.

"Did he!"

This time, Ser Galend decided it was time to stop trying the traitor's patience.

"Look!" someone cried out. "It has finally stopped snowing."

By now, all traces of the runaways had been well and truly erased. Ser Galend smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

_Many years later…_

He was riding towards King's Landing through a storm that smashed crops, uprooted centuries old trees and made children whimper in fear, a storm that hadn't come over the Seven Kingdoms in decades.

"Your Grace," the captain of his household guard dared say, "maybe we should seek shelter."

Without answering, Maekar urged his horse despite the animal's protesting whinnying. Behind him, his people followed, muttering that this was madness and their lord was certainly not in full possession of his mind. He tilted his head upwards and left the heavy raindrops cascade on his face and eyes, piercing like arrows. He hoped the pain would make him forget the other pain that was growing stronger with any passing moment or maybe he'd be mercifully killed by the rolls of thunder crashing over them. It was so cold that they were all shivering

Each step of the way reminded him of another journey in freezing cold. There had been a moment when he had thought they wouldn't make it. But then, he had been going with hope – hope for the future, hope for his life, his sister and brother's lives, his father's kingdom. Now he was traveling towards his punishment, his horse wading through seas of mud and ruined crops so slowly, yet faster than he wished. He didn't want to arrive. Ever.

Everyone in King's Landing had taken refuge from the storm – all except for the workers who were frantically strengthening the embankments, lest the rebel sea sweep over the capital. Maekar looked at the dark vortex, listened to the sea screaming in anguish and felt as if he were listening to the very heart of the kingdom.

Everyone in the Red Keep seemed to have melted away. It did not disturb him – the court people were adept at the art of becoming invisible when it suited them. Someone would come any moment now.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when someone called, "The King is coming!" and he was faced with the Master of Ships, the Master of Coin, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and… no, in the vicious storm the sun was hidden and it was too dark for him to see who the last man was.

He cut off their welcomes, his head suddenly filled with a face from decades ago – the young apprentice of the Dornish seer, the one who had called those same words, _The King is coming._ He had so hoped he's never hear them about him.

"Where is the Queen?" he asked.

"She's in the sept, praying. Should we call her, Your Grace?"

It took him a moment to realize that they expected of him to give orders that Aelinor would _obey_. It felt peculiar. He didn't like it. "No, I'll go to her," he said and headed for the sept, still in his cold dripping garments, his hair soaking wet.

The sept was swimming in darkness and shadows. Maekar saw Aelinor immediately – her silver hair was the only bright thing in the sept.

She stood up from the altar where she had been kneeling and Maekar pretended not to see the effort the movement took of her bad leg. When she was about to curtsy, he stopped her. "Please, not you too. It's enough I have to take it from the others."

Her lips curved in the faintest shade of a smile. "You reacted in the same way when Aerys appointed Brynden his hand. What should one do to please you?"

She looked at him and the smile died. "Aerys is dead, Maekar," she said, as if he didn't know this fact.

"I know."

"I miss him." There was wonder in her voice. "I didn't expect I'd miss him so much."

He nodded and knelt in front of the altar. _Who is this man_ , he wondered, looking at the body the maesters had embalmed for lying in state. He had always considered Aerys devoid of life and vitality but it was right now, when Aerys was no longer there, that he realized his brother had had both. They were just so different from Maekar's idea of them. How could a man find more pleasure in books than arms? How could a man, any man, take more delight in some dusty old prophecies than a woman like Aelinor? But now, when it was all over, why shouldn't Aerys take delight in things that were different to Maekar's preferences? To the best of Maekar's knowledge, he had never done a thing he'd later regret bitterly. He certainly hadn't killed his brother…

The quiet contentment was now gone, as well the kindness and quiet dignity that made everything he did or said so unmistakably Aerys.

The man in front of him looked like a stranger.

"When was the last time you ate?" Maekar asked when he finally rose. Aelinor's wrinkled gown and the mess that was her hair showed him that she had been in the sept for days.

She thought about this. "I don't remember – yesterday I ate some bread and I drank some wine, I think."

"Go to your chambers," Maekar said. "Have a warm bath. Eat something. You'll fall ill if you keep going like this."

She smiled wearily. "You too. It won't do for us to have our new king going sniffling and sneezing to his coronation."

He shivered, suddenly aware how cold he was. "Don't joke about it," he said. He didn't want to think of the coronation, of the punishment that had finally befallen him. He had wanted to be the King's Hand and nothing more. Never something more.

Aelinor squinted at him and seemed to realize that in a way, he was more exhausted than her. He was certainly more despondent. She held out a hand. "Come on," she said. "Let's go."

He wrapped an arm around her waist to help her walk. In the last few years, her limp had become more pronounced. Sooner or later, she would have to consent to being carried around in a litter. She had spent her entire life in pain and it was so very unfair.

Outside, Aelinor was stunned to see how fierce was the raging storm. She had heard the thunders through the thick walls of the sept but she had been too focused on her memories of Aerys, memories of both love and helpless hatred.

"Come on," Maekar said. "I want to go to Aerys' chambers while…" He didn't finish but she knew. While they were still Aerys'. He had not been in the sept with them. Maybe they'd find him in the King's chambers.

But all they found was abandonment. There were no servants, no Kingsguard in front of his study. He had been dead only in a few days but his chambers already had the air of a place that no one lived in.

Aelinor shuddered at the sight of the great bed she had never come to share, the one Aerys had died in.

"What's this?" Maekar asked. His numbness had been broken by surprise: at one of the chests, there was a silver hairbrush. Next to it he saw a few bracelets. A woman? Traces of a woman in Aerys' bedchamber? Maekar would have never believed it, hadn't he seen.

Aelinor came near and was rendered speechless. Maekar looked at her. "What?"

"These are my things," she said. "They are mine, Maekar."

"Yours?" he asked, stunned. "Are you sure?"

She only looked at him. "Please, I know my hairbrush when I see it. And these are my favourite bracelets."

"I know." He had seen them hundreds of times. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

He opened the first closet he saw. Aerys' garments were already packed off and carried away but a few of Aelinor's favourite gowns and smallclothes were now there. She and Maekar looked at each other.

"Did you give orders for your things to be moved here?" he asked.

"No… I don't understand." She looked genuinely puzzled. 'Who would…?"

But Maekar suddenly understood. He went to the nearest of the three tables of carved wood. As he expected, he saw some of Aelinor's things there, as well – a book she had been fond of since her youth, the type of parchment she preferred, the little seal with the dragons and the letter A she sealed her letters with. He turned back. "It was Aerys," he said simply. "No one else would have dared. He must have given orders to be implemented after his death."

Aelinor looked at him blankly and since she could no longer stay upright, she gingerly lowered herself on a sofa. "But why?" she asked, unconsciously rubbing the spot where the pain seared most brightly – something she would never do if she knew someone might see. Maekar didn't tell her.

"He must have known," he said. "That you'd live here, with me. You will, won't you?"

He spoke calmly, as a matter of fact. He was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve but Aelinor could feel the tension in his voice and posture, the fact that her answer mattered to him more than he'd ever say aloud. She had planned on leaving King's Landing, on leading the traditional life of a dowager – but she waved this plan without thinking twice. "Yes," she said. "Yes, of course."

Suddenly, she started shivering worse than she had in the cold sept in her thin gown. Maekar came near and put his arms around her and she buried her face in his neck. "He was never a good husband," she said. "But now I can finally see him only as a brother. I hadn't really thought about him in that way in ages."

"I know," he said.

"I'll miss him, Maekar."

"So will I."

She wept bitterly and he held her. Her sobs shook both of them and that was a good thing because he could pretend that the pain might come out, that he had finally learned how to cry.

Outside, the storm gave one last roar and there was finally silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before reading this chapter, you might want to read A Night in the Red Keep. In fact, it is the real fifth chapter of this story, only it came out fully formed before I even thought of this spinoff.

_A few years later…_

The summer was so hot that the men were almost falling asleep on horseback. Some were muttering that this was worse than a Dornish desert. Others kept themselves awake by counting the black leaves of the dried trees they passed by. Everyone was sweating heavily and their stench preceded them by a good two miles.

In his saddle, Maekar blinked a few times to snap out of the snooze threatening to overcome him. This summer would never end, it seemed. His men were right, it was too hot. He imagined his bathchamber, cool and soothing, with a tub of nice lukewarm water… Of course, he would have to fight to have a bathchamber at all, a palace, a kingdom and everything else. "Bloody Blackfyre!" he murmured. "Seven sons! Seven! It was all part of the image you wanted to build, right? The manly man. And now we have to deal with the consequences. Couldn't you be more… restrained?"

The man next to him snorted. Maekar huffed. "Fine, I'll admit I didn't look any better in my relationship with Naeryn but at least I didn't start a war confessing my undying love for another woman who has been oh so unjustly denied to me. At least the fool could have truly wanted this damned throne instead of being brainwashed into thinking that he wanted it by those smarter than him."

"Between the two of them, Bittersteel was always the smarter one," Ser Galend agreed.

 _If Blackfyre knew how this bloody throne crushed your life beneath it, he might have reconsidered,_ Maekar went on mentally. As of late, he had started feeling bodily crushed beneath its weight. Disappointments followed close to each other. This was the fourth year of his reign, as well as the third rebellion. Blackfyres just wouldn't leave them alone. In his private life, things were even worse. Daeron and Aerion had turned out to be even bigger disappointments than he had expected. Aemon still insisted that he was entirely glad to serve as a maester. At least Aegon and the girls had turned out better than expected. True, Daella had gone so far away but Maekar had to admit that she had stayed at King's Landing much longer than most noble widows did, so it was just that she'd go to live at the end of the kingdom with her new husband. And Aegon and Rhae had settled at King's Landing where they had quickly won the hearts of the populace. _It is not all bad,_ Maekar reminded himself. And of course, he shouldn't forget Aelinor _. It was the only good thing that came with this throne, that I could finally have her._ He shivered at the thought of how close they had been at missing each other again. _I am doing this for her_ , he thought. _For her. For Rhaelle and the boys. For everyone in Westeros._ Still, such declarations sounded so empty when compared with the price the people would have to pay.

"I don't hear any complaints from you?" he looked at Ser Galend and the knight grinned.

"The heat reminds me of home. I don't mind."

 _Home. Dorne._ After Redgrass Field, Maekar had sent Ser Galend to Dorne as a part of Daenerys' entourage – an arrangement that neither party was pleased with. Still, Galend had gotten used to Dornish ways pretty soon. After an ardent relationship that had kept Sunspear amused to no end he had married the only daughter and heiress of Lord Jordayne who was also said to be a great beauty. Later, when his son had inherited the Tor, Ser Galend had been at a loss of what to do with his life. Maekar and Aelinor's visit to Dorne a few years ago had come just in time: he had returned to King's Landing with them and taken his old duties with Maekar. Everyone was pleased with these arrangements.

"Besides," Ser Galend added, his voice suddenly low, "I once vowed that should I escape the cold and humidity of the cells, I'd never complain of heat again."

Maekar looked aside. Galend hadn't meant to give offence but nonetheless Maekar gelt a stab of guilt. Once, he had fled over the iced moat of a besieged castle leaving Galend to face the rebels almost alone. He couldn't have taken him along – Galend had been too badly wounded. But the two years in captivity, until Redgrass Field, had taken a great toll of his youth and health. The first time he had seen him, immediately after the battle, Maekar hadn't recognized him. A new grudge had been added to his list of grievances against Bittersteel: the man had become a reason for Maekar to lose his closest companion.

He looked around. They were marching with the intended speed toward Rook's Rest and it was already getting dark. Soon, the scorching heat would be replaced by suffocating humidity, both equally unpleasant. And building camp took time. He raised a hand. "Stop," he ordered. "We'll spend the night here."

As usually, he invited his battle commanders to dine in his tent, as the time-honoured custom dictated. Aegon and Galend prolonged their stay and Maekar was glad, for the hard truth was he dreaded their leaving. He feared the moment he would stay alone with his dreams… nightmares, more precisely. They always plagued him during campaigns and he had started to fear them. In King's Landing or Summerhall, Aelinor usually woke up at the first change in his breathing and roused him before he could be fully drawn into the damned world of that thrice damned trial at Ashford or if he was, she soothed him back to sleep; during campaigns, he sent everyone away from his tent, so no one but the Kingsguard at the entrance could hear the sound of his nightmares.

This night, though, it wasn't the trial or the tournament. It was the house he had stepped in all those years ago, the house of the Dornish seer. It was the baking dish with the future that would be. The canopy, the weeping people, the great bed. Despite his will, he stepped forward… and woke up.

The exhausting match continued. Maekar was in a hurry to get as far as they could before the weariness did the rebels' work for them. He needed to crush them before Bittersteel's invading army – what was it named, the Golden Sons? No, the Golden Company – could land and join them.

They arrived in the time the plan stipulated. "Unfortunately," Aegon muttered after the scout had left, "they, too, arrived in time. What are we doing?"

Maekar hesitated. Every instinct he had screamed at him to order that they keep moving, close the distance of two hours that separated them from the enemy and engage in a fight. But he had learned that instincts were not always the better guide. "We stop for a rest," he said. They needed it. "Go to sleep."

Aegon nodded.

"And if I can't see you alone tomorrow… be careful."

Aegon gave him a look of surprise. "When haven't I been careful?"

"Really," Maekar muttered and looked at the crest of the nearest hill. ". When haven't you been careful, I wonder? I am trying to think of such a thing ever having happened and I can't."

Aegon grinned and went off to sleep. Maekar tried to do the same but instead of sleep, he found the soft eyes of the Dornish seer. " _Your_ _fate will come true. It will not be the fate you wish for, Maekar Targaryen, but you will make it come true_ _,_ " he heard a voice saying and then that weeping around the bed again…

The morning came early in a waterfall of rosy fingers and golden glory. It was almost unfair that they would disturb such a duty with their ugly martial displays.

It was barely noon when the outcome was decided. Once again, the dragon kings had managed to keep the reigns over their kingdom, crush the rebels and bury their hopes in the pyre where Targaryens buried their own dead. But they were not going down without a fight – now more daring because it was more desperate. They didn't have anything to lose but if they managed to kill the King or some of those closest to him, that would be a huge success by itself. Fortunately, Maekar was used to being a prime target – he had never been anything else, so fighting off two attackers at once posed no difficulty to him, especially with their lack of experience. From time to time, he even spared a look for Aegon, not too far away from him, his sword flashing against a huge mace. The man with the mace was, unfortunately, better than both of Maekar's attackers combined. Still, it did not explain the eerie feeling that had grasped him. He had seen Aegon in battle tens of times and he had always feared for him – but it was nothing like the deep, almost animalistic terror he felt now.

He landed a blow and finally took one of his attackers down. Again, he looked at Aegon, with his quick reflexes that helped him prevent the blow _. Baelor was the same,_ Maekar thought. _Faster than his own thought._

Suddenly, the eerie feeling from a minute ago came back with the clarity of a recovered memory, of a sick foreseeing what would happen a moment before it happened. "No!" Maekar screamed. "No! Aegon, stop!"

But his son couldn't hear him and in a horrible clash of past and present, the mace stroke and reacting instinctively before fully realizing the direction of the blow, Aegon half-turned to protect his shoulder. The heavy stroke fell directly on his head, throwing him off the saddle. The only reason he didn't get ridden over was the fact that no horse would ride over a fallen man without trying to avoid it. But he didn't rise.

* * *

_An hour later…_

The King's tent was filled with people who wept, spoke, explained and cursed all at once. The din was so loud that it drummed into Maekar's ears before he reached the centre of the tent. At the far end, in his own bed under the canopy he saw a glint of silver-gold, immediately hidden by the body of a maester. The stench of blood assaulted his nostrils. He kept moving, step by step. When he got near, he saw that the canopy was divided. Two maesters changed position so he could look. With tremendous effort he did. Aegon's skull was whole. The attacker had been just as skilled with mace as Maekar but maybe not this strong. That had made the difference… or not? Aegon was still unconscious and if the maesters' concerned faces were anything to go by, he might never regain consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

_An hour later…_

"Well?" Maekar asked. "Is he going to survive?"

The old maester blinked nervously. Aemon looked aside, refusing to answer.

"Your Grace," the white-haired man said, "the wound is serious, yes, but not necessarily deadly. We need to remove the spike from the wound before accessing the damage."

Maekar nodded. "I see," he said evenly. "Well, what are we waiting for? For infection to start, maybe?"

His voice was so even that Ser Galend did not even want to imagine what he surely sounded – and looked! – like to the tens of people crowded in the tent. _Here is the monstrous father who doesn't care whether his son lives or die, as if the Prince is a dog trampled on by his horse…_ _He never learned_ , the knight thought. _He never learned to be anything but stony faced when it mattered most – and give the impression that he doesn't give a damn!_ It was a good thing that a King's life and rule did not depend on people's opinion on their character, otherwise Maekar wouldn't have lasted a day.

"I'll do the removal," Aemon said. "Maester Caral and I agreed on that. He has much more experience but…" He hesitated.

"Experience isn't all there is to it," the old man said. "Hands are needed, too. Young and steady hands."

 _Are they going to be sure_ , Ser Galend wondered. Once, Maekar had told him the story about Rhae's stillbirth and how Aemon had refused to do it with his own hands because he wasn't sure his hands would be steady enough on his sister. There was no reason to think that he'd be more self-assured when it came to his brother.

Unless, of course, there was no other choice. Not exactly encouraging.

Aemon took a deep breath and looked at Maekar. "I have done such procedures on the battlefield before but I'll need a model to practice on." He paused. "I need heads, Father," he said bluntly. "As many heads as possible."

"I see," Maekar said. "Well, we're not in the lack of those."

He looked at Ser Galend. "Go to where they bury the bodies and give orders. Bring ten heads to my son."

Ser Galend bowed and immediately left to obey the command. When he returned, it was only Maekar and Aemon in the tent. Aegon was still just like he had been at Ser Galend's leaving but then, he hadn't expected him to stir. Head blows were a very tricky thing but most of them did not suppose immediate movement.

"The heads will be ready in a few minutes, Your Grace," he said.

Maekar looked at Aemon. The young man stared at one of the poles of the bed. "I'd better go," he said but did not move for a while. When he did, it was slowly, reluctantly. At the entrance, he turned, looked at his brother, bowed to his father and disappeared like a ghost.

"He's scared." Maekar's voice was as even as before but Galend could pick up the slight undertone of worry. "I don't think I've ever seen him more scared than this."

The knight shrugged. "That is to be expected, I think. Still doesn't mean he won't do it right."

Maekar made a step toward him, looked at him in the eye. "Do you think he'll succeed?"

 _What should I tell him? What is it that he needs to hear?_ Of course, Galend knew the answer to that. But it didn't mean that was the right answer. He had never told Maekar anything but the truth. He had lied and cheated because of him but never _to_ him, even when the truth had been very much not to the Prince's liking. That was the thing that had made Maekar keep him close all those years when they were all but children growing up together.

"I don't know, my prince." He always called him that when they were alone. They both preferred it this way. "He strikes me as very competent."

"He is."

"Then I'll keep faith in the best outcome."

Again, Maekar looked at the bed. "I wish I could," he said very softly. "But I keep thinking… I remembered, Galend. I remembered the blow that slew him."

Ser Galend immediately knew that Maekar did not mean Aegon. "It was just a mishap. You cannot possibly think…"

"I do. It was a mishap, truly. I… I was very angry with him but I would have rather died than hurt him intentionally. But I killed him and since then, it was as if someone cursed us. The Spring Sickness, the bad crops, Rhaegel's death, Aerys' death, that damned Baratheon…" He paused and looked at the other man. "You know what happened to Daella, don't you?"

Ser Galend sighed. "Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows about this. I still fail to see how it is your fault."

Of course, it was the fault of the young man lying on the bed. But neither of them said it.

Ser Galend went to the table and poured wine for both of them. Then he looked at Maekar. "You haven't eaten since yesterday. You need to eat something. And have a rest. It'll be hard days ahead of us."

"You're putting it mildly." Maekar sighed. "Go out and tell the crows who no doubt are straining their ears that he's still alive… and he'll stay this way, so they can all get lost. Then come back here."

 _Of course_ , Ser Galend thought. He was the only one Maekar would allow to stay near. He always had been. His lord had always preferred to lick his wounds in private which, of course, helped spreading further the supposition that he was too heartless to have any. In truth, Galend was a little relieved because maintaining the façade Maekar kept for the world came at a great prize. Galend was one of the very few who knew that when severely overwhelmed, sometimes Maekar was prone to episodes of lethargy and despair during which he lacked even the energy to rise from his bed. The Seven were merciful: it did not happen often, only six times in the ten years he had spent with the Prince when young. But when it happened, it was pretty horrifying. No one should ever get a wind of that.

He was about to say something but Maekar was no longer looking at him. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the bed where Aegon lay with no change in his state.

 _He'll survive_ , Ser Galend thought. _He must._

* * *

_Three days later…_

The severed head gave them no answers – at least, no one but Aemon and the old maester could say what the answers meant. By what he could gather, Ser Galend had to conclude that it was going neither way – sometimes Aemon could open the skull with stunning precision, and other times he was worse than a drunken butcher. The tension constantly rose, along with the expectation of the infection that would surely – surely – manifest itself if they didn't hurry up. Aemon tried to speed things and that made his attempts worse.

The arrival of Princess Rhae and Queen Aelinor didn't do much for the overall confidence. Like Maekar, they kept their concern over control admirably but it was so palpable that Ser Galend couldn't stay in the tent a moment longer, for he couldn't breathe in this air of despair, hope, guilt and who knew what else. He needed to get outside.

Where he found a brawl.

He raised a hand to his brow to make sure that he wasn't seeing wrong. He wasn't. About fifteen yards of the royal tent there was a bear of a man who was arguing with the outer guards. The two Kingsguard at the entrance of the tent watched impassively but then, Ser Galend hadn't really expected them to get involved.

He crossed to the brawlers and asked sharply, "What's the problem?"

The troops looked up and recognized him. "My lord," one of them said, "this man wants to break into His Grace's tent."

"Not true," the man-bear grunted. "I only wanted to see how the Prince was. There are all kind of rumours among the ranks…"

Ser Galend looked upward and then some to see the worried face of the speaker. He was by no means a small man but compared to the young bear he supposed he looked quite… toylike. Did the man, by chance, have giant blood? And then he knew.

"Come with me," he said and looked at the guards. "He is with me. He may enter."

With a stammered thanks, the bear followed him toward the tent. Ser Galend stopped once to look at him. "He's alive," he said. _For now_ , he added mentally.

"How did you know?" the young man asked. "Did Egg… the Prince, I mean."

"Not the Prince. The King," Ser Galend replied. "Ah, here we are. I must warn you that they are all very anxious. Keep quiet, don't bother them and for the Warrior's sake, if they ask you a question, be as brief as possible."

Unfortunately, Rhae had no intention of keeping quiet. Oh she spoke softly but she did not mince words.

As soon as she noticed the newcomer, she stood up, her hands on her hips. "Look at what the cat has brought along," she said and glared. "What are you doing here?"

Dunk shifted his weight uneasily. "Well, I was in the battle and I heard he was unwell, and…"

"And you decided to find out whether he's dead or alive?" she interrupted. "Well, you can see that he's alive. Now, clear off."

"Rhae…" Aelinor said softly and the young woman's eyes flashed.

"Don't 'Rhae' me! Aegon expected something of him, expected it when he was well and our noble Ser Duncan the Tall didn't bother to show up. He was obviously among the ranks and he still didn't seek Aegon out. Am I supposed to welcome him _now_? No way!"

Dunk looked at the bed. Never had he seen Egg so pale and irresponsive. Of course, he was now very changed and all grown up… or at least he had been before the blow on the head. Sometimes, people didn't wake up after such a thing; sometimes they woke up fools.

"Rhae," Maekar said firmly, "stop it. Stop it now! It isn't the time to settle scores and honestly, it is no concern of yours. Aegon will have his say when he wakes up."

If _he wakes up_ , everybody thought and no one admitted.

* * *

When Dunk woke up, he blinked a few times to clear his head and looked around to find out where he was. The furnishings reminded him of a royal castle, although they were far more austere. The darkness coming from the slit between two canvases at the side of the tent told him that it was the late afternoon. Then his eyes fell on the bed and he remembered.

Egg was still just like he had been before Dunk fell asleep. Rhae had fallen into exhausted slumber next to the bed, her head propped on it. Her lips were moving, as if she was murmuring or praying in her sleep.

On the other side, Maekar and Aelinor sat together on a bear hide in front of the fireplace. He had wrapped an arm about her shoulders and their heads were touching.

It was not their physical contact that stunned Dunk. He had heard plenty of the king kinslayer and the queen whore who had brought all the ills in the kingdom with their sins but he had never pricked up his ears for slanders. The fact that they had not wed, despite being able to do that, seemed to deny the claims that the two of them carried out an undisguised affair and still, he did not doubt that there was something to _this_ rumour. When with Egg at Summerhall, he had heard the elderly talk about times long gone, that Maekar and Aelinor had been to get married once, that they had been exactly suited to each other. And well, with Targaryens the incest was almost a guarantee. If they were as upset as Ser Galend had implied, it was normal to seek comfort in each other. No, he was stunned by the intimacy they radiated, the feeling that they were two halves of a whole. They looked so naturally together that Dunk was almost inclined to forget the incest and wish that he could have something like that. _Maybe Egg and Rhae will look like this one day when they grow old_ , he thought. _They must grow old. He must recover._

Not noticing that he was now awake, they started talking and Dunk had no other choice but pretend that he was still sleeping. They should never know that he had heard them them – it was all too personal.

"You look terrible," Aelinor said. "You haven't slept in days, haven't you?"

"I have nightmares when I sleep. I don't want to sleep."

She sighed. "Still the same dreams?"

"Still the same. Always the same." He paused. "I remembered, Aelinor."

"What?" she asked. "What do… oh!"

Silence. And then – her voice, soft and tender, and angry. ""Why does it still matter? It was so long ago. You didn't mean it, I know that. You didn't, and it's all in the past. Now that you remembered, you can put it to rest."

"I can't," he said sharply, angrily. "Look at my son. Look at him and tell me again that it's in the past. It's the reality. We have to deal with this _now_. He might die _now_. All because I am…"

A new pause. Then, he again. "I am sorry. It's not you, Aelinor. It's me. You see, that's what I saw all those years ago when Mother brought me to Eliar the Dornish – this wound, this tent… When I woke up then and they told me about Baelor, I thought that that was it… but it wasn't. All my life, I've been trying to forget that night and now it's right here."

"The night you left me?" she asked. He had never given her any explanation about his behavior. One moment, he'd been blindly seeking the comfort of her arms, the next he'd been making love to her as he had never done before, and in the morning he'd told her they must obey their father's orders.

He looked aside. "The night I left you," he confirmed. That was all – no further explanations, no excuses. For a moment, she remembered the horror she had sensed in him then and then it was over. She was beyond grievances about that, had been in years. It was all over. Now they were together and that was what she chose to focus on.

He looked at her, her expression as transparent to him as his was to her. "Is your leg troubling you?"

"It's nothing," she said.

"It is something," Maekar corrected. He could see that she was in serious pain. He drew back. "Come on. I'll take you to Aegon's tent and there I'll give you a massage. Do you carry your oils? No? Well, we'll have to do without."

"I thought you'd rather stay here."

He looked at Aegon at the bed and then Rhae and Ser Duncan, both seemingly asleep. "He's still as he was and if there is a change, they'll call us. There isn't anything I can do for him now but I think I might be able to do something for you."

Indeed, he was. That was an intimacy Aelinor allowed no one else, the touching of her deformity. The fact that massages brought her some relief was inessential compared to her pride. No one should see how badly her leg and hip had twisted with time.

She smiled slightly. "What an honour, to have a king acting as my maester. Yes, you'll be able to do something for me, indeed. The truth is, I've missed your ministrations."

He returned the smile. 'You would have me to be your slave forever, wouldn't you, my Queen? Warming your oils, rubbing away your aches…"

"Are you offering?"

His smile disappeared and his face turned sober. "Would it help?"

She held out a hand and he gripped it. They locked eyes silently, then Maekar rose and leaned over to lift her off the bear hide. She wrapped an arm around his neck and he carried her out of the tent, both looking at the bed as they went.

Only when he was sure they were already halfway through their massage did Dunk open his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

_A day later…_

When Aemon came out of the tent, his face was ashen. Rhae stood up from her footstool at once and came near, her face full of fear, apprehension and hope. "What?" she asked in a voice that sounded nothing like hers.

When there was no immediate answer, she licked her lips, shook her head. "No…" she whispered. "Mother, no…"

The sight of her horror made her brother come back to his senses. "No, no. He isn't dead, Rhae. He's alive! I'm sorry I led you into thinking…"

Her relief and gratitude were so profound that the world swirled around her. Her father caught her just before she fell and held her upright until her head stopped spinning.

"What?" Maekar turned to Aemon, his voice more unreadable than even his face.

"The procedure was successful," his son said. "I managed to take the spike almost without touching the surrounding tissue. The wound… now it should close. The tissue should grow together again. He… he should wake with a hell of a headache but without complications."

 _Should_. Aemon had not said _will_. They had not expected different but it turned out that each of them had hoped and his words now hurt them.

It was strange but it was Rhae who first came around. She stepped forward, tiptoed, pressed a kiss on Aemon's cheek. "Thank you, brother," she whispered. "I'll go to him now."

"Make no noise," he warned. "And keep the tent dark, except for the fireplace. I am not sure whether his sight was affected. It probably wasn't but either way, it would be prudent to keep him in dark surroundings."

"Very well," she promised, "I'll keep the canopy down."

"And no more than two people at a time," gave Aemon his last instructions while the old maester was finally emerging from the tent before Rhae entered. "I'll come back as soon as I wash."

Everyone's eyes fell on his bloodied hands, then went up to his face. He was bone tired, the last three hours seemed to have aged him in years. Aelinor made a step toward him.

"You'll do no such thing," she said firmly. "You'll wash and you'll rest, and if there is a change, we'll call you at once."

Aemon tried to object. "But Aegon…"

"Aegon," Maekar said harshly, "doesn't seem to need any special care right now. You'd better get some sleep, so you can tend to him when he does need it. Go to his tent and rest. I'll send someone with bathwater."

"But I…"

For a moment, Maekar's face softened. "You've already done more than enough, Aemon. Go and have a rest."

Again, his eyes went to Aemon's hands, fine and delicate, so different from the roughened hands holding sword, mace and bow – the hands of the glorious warriors. And yet, all his martial prowess, the martial prowess of Maekar entire host could do nothing for the precious life hanging in the balance inside the tent while these hands might have made the difference. _Maybe Father did know what he was doing after all_ , Maekar thought, not for the first time in the last years, _bringing out the best in everyone._ The older he got, the more he appreciated them – his father, Aerys… Of course, it was too little, too late.

His hands had clenched in fists of tension. Aelinor reached out and placed her hand over his, just for a moment. Once, her ability to look into his very soul had angered him, made him feel scornful, exposed, especially after he wed Naeryn and the last thing he needed was Aelinor rummaging through his mind. Now, he was only grateful that there was someone to whom he could speak without words.

Rhae emerged from the tent and they slowly entered.

* * *

_Hours later…_

Aemon woke up in the dead of night, a vision of scarlet blood and white brain burning his eyes. He frantically rose and was already reaching for his robes when he saw how unsteady his hands were. The entire weariness and feverish tension of the last few days were really catching up with him. There was no use of rushing to his brother's side now. He might actually do more harm than good. And his father was right, he needed to preserve his strength for the time when Aegon would really need him, so he lay back and willed himself to fall back asleep.

* * *

_At the same time…_

Rhae slowly rose from her place near the bed and went to the table. She poured a goblet of water and brought it to her lips, then hesitated and poured another one. Silently, she brought it to the mountain of a man at the other side of the tent and pushed it into his hand angrily. Standing in front of him, she looked as small as a child, yet he was the one cowering. _As he should_ , she thought viciously. _He is the one who abandoned him._ But at least, he wanted Aegon to wake up as much as she did. That, more than her father's command, made her let him stay.

They both looked at the bed, watching for a sign of change – a sigh, a flutter of a hand. But they found nothing.

"It's still early," Rhae spoke.

"It is," Dunk agreed and they kept waiting.

* * *

_At the same time…_

His arm was still troubling him but he expected that by the morning, he'd be better. It was strange, how pain got worse in the evening… as well as with aging. In his twenties and thirties, he'd been unable to use the arm properly but he had felt no pain. Now, he felt it dully, just enough to keep him from falling asleep.

 _Is he going to be fine_ , Ser Galend wondered. He had to. Ser Galend didn't want to think what would happen to the Seven Kingdoms if he didn't. Out of all Maekar's sons, he was the most promising one. As fond as he was of Daeron – he certainly could see in him some virtues that Maekar seemed blind to – he shuddered at the thought of seeing him a King. Aerion was far worse. The Targaryen madness was strong with this one, and he was not as gentle and harmless as Prince Rhaegel had been. _The gods must have been in especially foul mood_ , Ser Galend thought, _to give Maekar and Naeryn, with her proverbial gentle temper, a son like him._ Aemon had a good head on his shoulders but Aegon was even better, the perfect combination of wit, martial skills, peaceful temper and sanity. No, he had to survive. _Besides, it would crush Maekar if he didn't._ He would never let it show, of course, but it would. Not only was Aegon his favourite son but the combat, the blow… it was already giving him nightmares, literally. Hopefully, he'd be able to sleep this night. _The Prince must recover,_ Ser Galend thought. _There is no other option. He must._

* * *

_At the same time…_

"Maekar! Maekar, wake up! It's only a dream!"

Sometimes, when he stirred and started breathing hard, it was enough to hold him and rub his back. A few soft words later, he'd chase away whatever nightmare was plaguing him without even waking up fully. Now, though, she had to shake him out of his dream as quickly as possible – the repeated experience of the last two nights had showed her that it was the only way.

His eyes snapped wide opened and looked around wildly. Aelinor lit the candle at the bedside and looked at him steadily. "You were having a nightmare," she said calmly. "It was a nightmare, Maekar. You're awake now."

He seemed to come around. His breathing became slower, his eyes less wild. She lay back and held him close.

"I behave like mad," he said after a while, irritated by himself. Still, he did not draw back, soothed by her nearness. "I am no longer a child to be scared by nightmares."

"We are Targaryens," Aelinor said. "We are bound to be mad."

"Indeed."

Under the cover, his hand found her bad hip and pressed it softly. "Is it better now?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

It was weird to think how long it had taken her to show him the damage. He had repeatedly asked and she had always refused, until one evening, three months after she had moved to his chambers, he had simply swept the covering aside, much to her horror. She'd been stunned to see none of the revulsion she expected. The revulsion she still felt at the sight of her deformity.

"Go to sleep," she whispered. "There'll be no more nightmares for tonight. He'll wake up recovered. You'll see."

They knew the world didn't work this way; but it was what they needed. It was what they wanted to believe. "He'll wake up recovered," Aelinor repeated and after a while, they fell back to sleep, this time with no dreams at all.

* * *

_The next afternoon…_

"What… what happened?"

The voice was weak but it made Dunk stand up immediately and go closer to the bed. Rhae was still sleeping on the footstool, her head resting on the bed, her fingers laced with Aegon's. The young man's eyes were wide open and confused. The confusion only grew when he recognized Dunk. "Ser?" he asked uncertainly but did not try to turn to him, lest he roused Rhae. "What happened? Why… are you here?"

He still has his wits. Thank the Seven, he still has his wits. "I heard you've got the biggest clout in the ear ever," Dunk said casually, keeping a low voice, "so I decided to come here and make sure your head was still facing forward. A hard head, that one."

Egg grinned weakly. "So I've heard. My lord father said the same when I was little." The smile died and he scowled with pain. "Is he… well?"

"He is unhurt," Dunk assured him. "We won."

"That's… good." He closed his eyes and opened them again. "My head… feels like it's been split up."

 _Because it was_ , Dunk thought. "You'll be fine," he said. "Rest. Do you want something? Some food? Or water?"

Egg shook his head, barely audibly. "How long have I been here?"

"Four days… or maybe five."

"So long?"

He looked at Rhae. Through the white pain in his head he realized that they must have thought he'd die – that was why they had called her… He looked at Ser Duncan again before the weariness got the better of him. "Go to my father," he said. "It must have happened… ask him…"

"What?" Dunk asked. "What is it that I should ask him?" He couldn't quite imagine himself seeking out the King to ask him questions but if that was what Egg needed, then…

Aegon's eyes were drooping but they were no less intent than a moment ago. "My sister… it's very important… ask him…"

 _His sister?_ Dunk looked at Rhae who was already sleeping. Surely Egg couldn't mean _her_? But it was too late to ask. Egg had already fallen asleep, so Dunk rose in his full height and left the royal tent.

Blinking in the bright sunlight, he saw Aemon coming in quick but measured steps, freshly bathed and garbed in sparkling clean maester robe. Rest had revived him and filled him with a sense of purpose. Dunk met his eye and grinned widely. The grin he received in reply was so unexpected that he startled. In this moment, Aemon looked like a mischievous kid whose mad bid had paid out. Just like Egg had, years ago when they had roamed the Seven Kingdoms. Then, Aegon entered the tent and Dunk was left alone.

Where could he find Maekar? Where should he start looking for him? Maybe he needed to go back inside and ask Aemon? Princess Rhae was out of question, even if she were awake: she had spent her entire time in the tent and besides, even if she knew, she wouldn't tell him. The only reason she tolerated his presence was because her father had ordered her to.

One of the Kingsguards was standing near the exit of the tent. Dunk headed toward him but before he reached him, the King appeared in his vision, coming from the main part of the camp. As usual, Ser Galend was a little behind him _. It's a weird thing, this royal business,_ Dunk thought. He had seen them in the tent: Ser Galend sat in Maekar's presence, interrupted him and once, Maekar had poured wine for both of them, instead of the other way around. But when they were outside, a few steps behind it was. So stupid!

"Is there a change?" Maekar asked and motioned to him not to bother with the formal courtesies.

"He woke up, Your Grace, and he seems to be in full possession of his mind."

The relief in the King's face was so evident that Dunk had to look aside, just like he had done that night in the tent when Maekar and Aelinor had been talking, thinking that no one heard.

"He wanted me to ask you something," Dunk added, still without looking at him.

"I am listening."

"Well, in fact… I don't know, Your Grace. I don't know what he was asking, he fell asleep before finishing but it was something about his sister and King's Landing… He said it was important…"

"I see," Maekar said. "And yes, it is important. This morning, a raven came from King's Landing. If you happen to be there when he wakes up, you can tell him that it's over. I have a new grandson."

"Oh." Dunk felt silly. For all the rumours he had heard in the ranks – including just how the King had looked like before leaving King's Landing, bitten and bruised all over… those Targaryens really had trouble telling pleasure from pain – he'd never heard that Princess Daella was with child.

When he looked back, Maekar was already in the tent. Ser Galend grinned at the huge knight. "Things have finally started falling back in place," he said. "Care to drink on this? My son recently sent me some excellent Dornish wine. And if you are going to live near the Targaryens, sometimes you'll certainly need it," he added.

"I am not going to…"

Ser Galend grinned again. "Yes, that's exactly what I said about forty years ago. Either way, I'm going to toast it. Coming?"

Dunk went.


	8. Chapter 8

_A year later…_

"You always take House Estermont's side because Lady Anelle is beautiful and has been batting her eyelids at you for as long as I can remember!"

"And you are always against them because they sided with Blackfyre years ago. At that, this was not the current Lord Estermont's fault as you know perfectly well!"

"What I know is that I never knew you to be this forgiving before _she_ came along."

The sound of their shouting had sent everyone diving for cover and straining to hear what they had to say. Maekar and Aelinor did not care – they had evoked such a sea of rumours just by living together that they could say nothing to shock Westeros – or the court – further.

Maekar was still trying to be reasonable but his temper was about to get the better of him. In the last few years, Aelinor's health had deteriorated rapidly and she was no longer fit to lead any public life. They had started dining in their chambers instead of the great hall since she could no longer navigate the perilous steps of the dais. Her pain was growing stronger by the day and she had started taking so much milk of poppy that she often slept for a day and a night. When she didn't take it, she was confined to her chambers. And of late, he had been neglecting her, busy with trying to suppress the latest attempt at rebellion. He came to bed after she had fallen asleep and left before she woke up. He took his meals with his counselors, working, and while a little understanding would do him lots of good, he couldn't really expect it of her, not when pain and forced confinement had caused her such distress.

Still, he had been totally unprepared for her accusations.

"I am constantly with this blasted Small Council, trying to keep the bloody Blackfyres away from Westeros and you think that I have the _time_ to look at another woman?"

"In regard to this particular woman, I remember you did more than just looking once!"

He was taken aback. How did she know? It had happened so long ago, soon after his wedding – surely she couldn't have noticed it? But then, why not? He still remembered the bloody Norvoshi ambassador who had actually dared to press his lips against her fingers once – an outrageous flirt.

"Where were you last night?"

This time, she had gone too far. "Is that an interrogation?" he asked coldly. "Because you, of all people, should know that I don't take kindly to that."

"And you, of all people, should know that I never tolerated being made a fool of!"

He closed his eyes and opened them again, then crossed the bedchamber in two strides and loomed over her. "You can't really think…"

"I can and I do."

The morning sun casted her features in a sharp relief; with a pang in his heart, Maekar suddenly noticed how frail she looked, far older than the two years separating them. She was emaciated because now that she had no exercise, it would become harder to move if she gained any weight. Her facial lines were as finely chiseled as ever but there was a constant exhausted edge to them. Her eyes were sunken and swimming in shadows.

"I didn't come here because I didn't want to disturb you," he said, his voice softer, because it was the truth. It seemed it hadn't been one of his best ideas, though. Not that he had liked it much better than she had but he simply didn't know what to do anymore - even the smallest touch could suddenly give her a strong pain.

Aelinor did not believe him. She could no longer admit him and sate him as men liked, hadn't been able to in weeks. And even if she could, why would he stay with her alone? It wasn't as if her deformed body and aging skin could be especially attractive to a man who had literally as many other options as he wished.

Right now, she desperately needed to hurt him somehow. She looked around and saw the big decanter on the sideboard. She knew how much Maekar disdained uncontrollable drinking, especially now that it was Daeron's main occupation, so she headed straight for the sideboard, trying to keep her balance.

"What are you doing!" Maekar exclaimed. "You'll fall down."

"I won't," she claimed and he caught her before she did just that. She broke free and reached for the decanter, drinking straight from it. She met Maekar's stunned eyes and said what she had on her mind.

"Kings rule and queens endure." She paused to drink again and waved the decanter at him. "If you take another woman to your bed, Maekar, I'll become a drunkard, just so you know!"

He only stared at her, taken aback by her childish threat. _If you don't give me this sword right now, I'll throw myself through the window..._ Surely she couldn't have reversed to the age of ten? Then, he sighed. She was not the only one who could talk stupidity. "Very well, it's about time for a drink."

Aelinor blinked. "It is? It's early in the morning!"

He took the decanter and drank. "If you become a drunkard, then I'll become a drunkard too. As you know, I am quite lost without your company."

Her eyes went wide. She had no desire either of them to become a drunkard!

All of a sudden, he felt a smile coming out and saw how Aelinor smiled, too, against her will. Then she laughed out loud, took the decanter from him and left it on the sideboard. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. They soon buried their last discord where all the others lay.

But they could not ignore the world outside their chamber forever.

* * *

_The next day…_

"Can I…"

Aegon didn't even wait to hear what his son would say. "No, you can't."

"But Father! I only want to…"

"Break your neckriding this horse that is not even fully trained yet?" Aegon suggested and Duncan looked aside. "Out of question, Duncan."

"But Grandfather said I could take any horse I wanted."

Aegon shook his head and decided to be patient. "I doubt he meant any of _my_ horses," he said. "Cinnamon belongs to me and not the King. I decided not to give it to you."

Duncan Targaryen bit his lip. He had to admit that his father was winning the argument, yet he remained stubborn that he was to sit atop this magnificent dark animal that was whinnying and giving them suspicious looks. "If I promise to take extra lessons for a week?"

"I am not bargaining with you," Aegon said and looked aside to hide his smile. The boy would grow to be a force to be reckoned with. Anyway, he couldn't be allowed on this temperamental horse right now. He was still ten.

Duncan looked around, hoping to see someone who could overrule his father. Then, his face lit up and he bowed to his grandfather and Queen Aelinor who were coming their way. "Is there an argument?" Maekar asked.

"No," Aegon said in the same moment that Duncan exclaimed, "I only wanted to ride Cinnamon, Grandfather, but Father says no. What do you think? Surely you understand…"

Maekar did understand – decades ago, he had frequently found himself in his grandson's place, his own father steadily refusing him to ride any untrained horses. Unfortunately, those had held the most fascination for him. He remembered how frustrated and angry he had been, how he had vowed that he'd never…

"When he is trained, maybe," he said and saw how the boy's face fell. Of course, Duncan had not expected that. In his experience, his grandfather usually allowed what his parents forbade. Next to Maekar, Aelinor made a small sound that sounded very much like stifling laughter, though it was unclear whether she was laughing at Duncan or Maekar.

Nearby, Ser Galend snickered. "I never thought I'd see a day when Maekar Targaryen would opt for safety where there were horses involved," he said. "I don't believe he thought he'd see such a day, either. I imagine King Daeron would have found it hilarious."

Dunk shook his head. The older man's insolence never ceased to amaze him. What was even more amazing was how quickly Ser Galend seemed to tune over to a perfect obedience when in public without missing a beat. Dunk doubted he'd ever be able to achieve such a smooth change.

"I take it that His Grace was attracted to them new horses?" he asked.

"That he was. The wilder they were, the better. Unruly, inexhaustible, and constantly trying to break walls with their heads." He chuckled. "Of course he'd be attracted to them, King Daeron said. Not that he allowed him to actually ride them. And not that the Prince listened. Our boy is not so different, it seems. Unruly, inexhaustible, and constantly trying to break walls with their heads," he said again. "This is Targaryens in a nutshell. Much flare and too little thinking involved."

"Talking about me again?" Aegon asked as he came near.

"Actually, I think he means me." Maekar wasn't looking at him but Aelinor. She smiled to reassure him that she was not tired. Actually, she looked better than she had in weeks. He was quite relieved. "Ser Galend will never forget that our first interactions were less than great," he added and looked at his companion. "Don't worry," he said with a generous air. "I forgave you for our initial differences long ago."

"Your Grace is kind," Ser Galend said. "Forgiving me when you were the one to blame in the first place."

Aegon's eyes went wide and so did Dunk's. They had never heard anyone speaking to Maekar like this – anyone who wasn't a family, anyway.

This time, Aelinor laughed out loud and turned her head to have a better look at the courtyard. She waved at Duncan who was about to leave with an escort, preparing to climb atop an impressive looking horse – but not Cinnamon. He waved back, his bad mood seemingly forgotten.

"I wish I could join him," Maekar said. "He's certainly a better company than the Small Council I am supposed to meet…"

"…now," Aelinor finished. "I haven't realized it was so late. Come on," she added. "You have to go."

"I'll see you off to our chambers first," Maekar said. "Aegon? Are you coming?"

"I am," his son said, sounding about as enthused as he was.

The King's chambers were on the first floor. Maekar held Aelinor tighter because he could say that she was already getting exhausted.

"What are you doing here?" Aegon asked, quite unsurprised, when they reached the main hallway with the many fluted windows.

The small figure did not turn – obviously he hadn't heard him. Maekar went to the window and looked down where Duncan was just leaving the courtyard. Then, he looked at the other boy and his breath caught.

How many times had Jaehaerys stood there and watched Duncan go? He was old enough to know that he was not like the other children, that he was frail, that he was forbidden so many things. Somehow, Maekar had never thought that he might _want_ them – Aerys never had as a child and there were many indications that Jaehaerys was as smart as Aerys. But they were powerless to give those things to him.

Was it because of the inbreeding? Too much undiluted Targaryen blood? But if it was, why had it never manifested this way before? No, it probably had something to do with the premature birth. Jaehaerys was a perfectly formed boy, albeit small for his age, but Maekar had heard that at his birth, he had not been a pretty sight but a rather horrifying one. That Rhae had fainted when they first showed him to her. Still, were the Seven angry with them for wedding brother to sister?

He shook his head, annoyed by the road his thought had taken. Even if it was so, it would make no difference for Jaehaerys now. And he was starting to think that his family was punishing itself enough with those marriages, especially when there was true love involved. To them, losing a partner would mean losing a spouse and a sibling at the same time. That was what would happen to him and Aelinor. That would be Aegon and Rhae's fate. He had never considered it when he'd been young and it made him sick to consider it now.

"Hey," he said and Jaehaerys looked at him. "Do you want to accompany me at the meeting of the Small Council?"

The boy's eyes lit up like twin moons. "Yes! May I? May I?"

"Only if you behave," Maekar said and gave him a stern look. "No talking. No making noise."

Jaehaerys started nodding enthusiastically. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse!"

"Do you believe it?" Aegon asked, his face very skeptical. "I appreciate it that you want to provide him with some distraction but… he's six, Father. He cannot possibly…"

Maekar cut him off. "Just because some other six-year-olds could not keep quiet, it still doesn't mean Jaehaerys can't. His temper is already showing and it's quite a favourable one. Are you coming?"

"In a moment," Aegon said and Maekar left with Jaehaerys.

Dunk looked from Aegon to the Queen. "Is he… serious? About taking a little boy to the Council?"

"I believe so," Aegon muttered, irritated by the description of his own temper as unfavourable as compared to Jaehaerys' who had somehow managed to escape his devoted grandfather's criticisms. Jaehaerys was not perfect either. More or less. "I have to go," he said and headed for the hall to see how the Council would react to their new public.


	9. Chapter 9

_A few years later…_

The Red Keep was silent. Peacefully silent, one might think. _Eerily silent_ , Dunk thought.

"I'm telling you, something might have happened to her. She's been out for so long. Maybe one of you should go and look for her."

Both knights of the Kingsguard stared at him with identical expressions of horrified shock. "Leave out duty?" Ser Benal exclaimed. "Not for the world. And besides, we are not spies stealing on Her Grace's steps. If she wanted us to accompany her, she would have told us so."

Dunk stared at them and tried to come out with an answer. They were right, Aelinor must have passed right past them saying nothing. And still… when he had spotted her from the courtyard, she'd been clad only in a thick mantle that could not offer protection from cold for too long. The winter had come and it was unusually harsh. And the Queen Dowager had not returned to her chambers or at least, he hadn't seen her doing it.

It was a great impudence to meddle into her business but he couldn't help it. It's been way too long. "Then wake up the King."

Now they gaped at him as if he had completely lost his wits. Maybe he had. And what of it? He was Dunk the lunk, never the brightest among knights. His noble impulses never failed to get him in trouble and they would surely do it this time, too.

"You… you want us to intrude on His Grace when he's sleeping?" Ser Mylas asked in disbelief.

Dunk was starting to lose his patience. "I want you to possibly save Her Grace's life! It's freezing cold out there. And if she tripped somewhere in this icy keep, does she strike you as someone who can actually _rise_?"

The white knights looked at each other, still hesitant. "What do you think the King will do if something happens to the Queen because you were so respectful of his _sleep_?" Dunk pressed.

Their quarrel was carried out in low voices, but the echo in the vast silent Red Keep was all too strong; a moment later, there was the sound of movement at the other side of the thick oak door and Maekar opened it, his eyes still bleary. "What's wrong?" he asked the Kingsguard. "Who are you talking to?"

Faced with the fact that the King had obviously been sleeping, Dunk felt suddenly embarrassed and cursed his stupid chivalrous impulse and, in fact, the very restlessness that had kept him awake and in the courtyard. Dunk the lunk had did it again, presented himself as a full-fledged fool. Aelinor was probably sound and safe in the great bed, wondering what had roused Maekar. Or she might have gone to her one time chambers, abandoned now that she lived with the King. Or…

"I am sorry, Your Grace," he stammered. "I was worried about the Queen and…"

"The Queen?" Maekar asked and frowned. "She's in the other room, she often does that when she's in pain, so she can pace without disturbing me…"

His last words came out faintly since he was already at the door of the adjacent chamber. He turned back, stunned. "She isn't here," he said. "How…?"

„I saw her going out quite a while ago," Dunk said. "She wasn't dressed for a long stay away from the fireplace and I…"

The change in Maekar's expression was so sudden that Dunk's words froze in his throat. A long forgotten memory came to life, all too vivid. _Once, she spent a whole night outside, in the snow,_ Egg had said. _That's why she's lame in one leg._ The condition had gotten worse with age and the thought that something like that might happen again clearly terrified Maekar.

"Where? Where did she go?" the King asked sharply, grabbing the first mantle he saw. "Go on, go on and show me the way. And you two." He suddenly turned to the Kingsguard. "You are not coming along. Stoke the embers, make a fire for when we come back."

Without looking back, he followed Dunk. In less than a minute, they were both freezing cold. After the long hot summer the harsh winter seemed all more colder. Their feet were becoming stiff in the boots. "It's so cold," Maekar murmured, as if speaking to himself. "If she's been out for more than a few minutes…"

She had. Dunk silently cursed himself for not going to the King's chambers as soon as he thought that Aelinor was taking too long to come back.

And then, he saw her. She was slumped against a tall hedge, as pale and frail as the snowflakes falling over her.

"Aelinor!" Maekar cried out and scooped her up, wrapping her in the mantle he took off from his shoulders. Her face was blue, her hands icy to the touch but her eyes were alive, full of gratitude and then full of pain. She tried to draw back but she had no more strength than a cat. "For the Seven's sakes, Aelinor, stay put!" he snapped and carried her back to their bedchamber that was now crowded with attendants. In the fireplace, there was a huge fire but when he tried to place her in front of it, she gave a faint whimper and tried to cling to him, as if the warmth caused her pain.

"Get the Grand Maester!" he barked. "And stop bawling, all of you! We just need to get her warm. Draw her a hot bath."

"No," Ser Galend spoke and everyone looked at him, surprised. Nonplussed, he went to the Queen and felt her forehead. "She's too cold. I've seen such things happening in Dorne. Her body won't be able to regain its warmth by itself. And hot hurts her skin."

Maekar understood. The body warmth came from within, all outer sources just helped it. But they could not replace it. Aelinor would die if…

"Covers," he said.

Ser Galend shook his head. "That won't be enough. And hot tea… no, she won't have the energy to drink it."

"Then what?" Maekar snapped, furious at him for being so calm and rational when the one who meant the world to Maekar was dying right next to them.

"Use your warmth."

"What? I don't understand."

"Use the warmth of your body! Get her warm!"

This time, Maekar understood. "Everyone out!" he ordered and started undressing Aelinor. His fingers slid on her wet mantle and he cursed, grabbed the dagger of Valyrian steel on the nearest table and cut all fabrics through before placing her on the bed. She was shaking. "Maekar, I am cold," she whispered while he was throwing his own garments in a heap on the carpet.

She felt like ice next to him under all the covers he had wrapped around them; with a sinking feeling, he thought that he wouldn't be able to bring warmth back to her body – she was literally like an ice cube. She could not even shake. He held her close despite the pain his touch caused to her chilling skin and kissed her cheeks, neck and shoulders, trying to melt her against him and praying that he'd overcome the need to shake her hard and scream in her face that she was the biggest fool ever having walked this earth. _No, it wasn't her. It was me. I destroy everything I touch. Gods, don't punish me through her, don't do this._ He chased away these thoughts. For now, getting her warm was his priority. And when she started breathing more easily, when she finally stared shaking, meaning that her body had regained the ability to generate warmth, and didn't feel so cold to the touch anymore, he touched her face and murmured, "It seems that the day Aegon found this big knight of his was a good day for all of us."

"Yes," she agreed, trying to touch his cheek and failing. He leaned his head closer to her fingers and she fell asleep against him – or maybe she lost conscience, he couldn't quite say even as he held her even closer with the strength of his relief. She was exhausted and in pain but here. Alive.

* * *

_The next day…_

For first time since ascending to the Iron Throne, Maekar cut the meeting of the Small Council. Aelinor had woken up, thankfully not partly paralyzed which was their biggest fear but in serious pain anyway. He didn't feel that he could put up with the petty squabbles of grown men fighting like bratty children. Besides, Aelinor had given enough to the Seven Kingdoms. Now, the Seven Kingdoms could wait.

Not Jaehaerys, though. As soon as he had satisfied himself that Aelinor was on her way to recovery, he caught his grandfather's hand and led him in the adjacent chamber, leaving the Queen with Rhae.

"What's the matter, Jaehaerys?" Maekar asked. Jaehaerys was too serious, even for him – and a little scared.

"Grandfather, did you kill your brother?" the boy asked without preamble.

Maekar didn't flinch – sooner or later, the children would hear about that. "Yes, I did."

"Because he would have never allowed you to live with Aunt Aelinor?"

Maekar stopped dead in his tracks and looked down. "So, that's what they are saying now? And what it was that you heard?"

"They are saying that King Daeron was a good and just man who wouldn't put up with the sin of adultery on your part so you had to keep yourselves in check. That Aerys would have happily turned a blind eye at your relationship but had Baelor become king, he would have never tolerated it and he would have never let you take Aunt Aelinor to your bed the way you did. That you killed him because of that."

"Who says this?"

"Servants. Courtiers. Not to my face, though. But I am neither blind nor deaf."

"No, you aren't," Maekar agreed. "You are very clever."

Twenty years had passed – twenty years in which Maekar had never explained himself to anybody over Baelor's death. But to his surprise, Jaehaerys' accusation stung him. At the same time, he recognized his grandson's boldness in actually asking the question. No one else never had. He sighed and motioned at the boy to sit down. "Come on," he said. "You can ask me all questions that are troubling you. And I'll do something I never did for anyone else. I will give you answers."

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

"Did you kill your brother?" Jaehaerys asked.

"Yes, I did," Maekar replied.

"And would he have let you live with Aunt Aelinor, had he stayed alive?"

"No, probably not."

The boy had no other questions, so he shrugged. Maekar looked at him curiously. "Come on, are you going to leave it at that?"

"You told me what I wanted to know," his grandson said.

"Don't you know the truth? Don't you want to know what truly happened?"

Jaehaerys looked thoughtful. "Well, you've admitted that you killed him, just as they say."

"Jaehaerys, there's more than one side to the truth. It isn't just the first thing you hear. You must ask hundreds of questions before you can make up your mind based on the facts."

Duncan and Rhaelle were far from stupid but he'd never speak to them the way he spoke to Jaehaerys, as if they were his equals in age – they would just get bored and stop following him. He certainly had when he'd been their age – he, Baelor, Rhaegel. Aerys, on the other hand, had loved it. And he truly thought Jaehaerys would grow up to be as smart as Aerys.

But for all his wit, he was still a child. Sometimes, he needed to be guided.

"Let me ask the questions you should ask me," Maekar said. "Do you agree?"

"Fine."

" _Maekar Targaryen, why did you kill your brother?_ It was an accident. In a melee, it's hard to control the strength of blows one deals."

" _Did you specifically choose him to be the one you'd fight?_ No, I didn't. In fact, I doubt that I even registered that. I mean, I knew who he was, of course, but my battle instincts played a cruel trick on me. To me, the foes were all the same. I would have fought whomever I faced. I didn't even think who he was that I fought."

" _Did you mean to kill any of them?_ No, things got out of control. I don't know whether I _was_ thinking at all. Pride, anger and the gods know what yet had pushed mind aside. I should have thought, though. I should have known it might have ended up in tragedy, as it did."

" _Did you do something to try preventing Baelor's death?_ When I heard he had fallen, I stopped the maester who was tending to me and sent him there to help. But my brother was beyond help, he'd been beyond help from the moment my mace fell down on him."

" _Do you regret killing him?_ To this day and till the day I die."

" _Under the same circumstances, would you have faced him again in the melee?_ No, I wouldn't have."

The two Targaryens fell silent, looking through the windows at the sea. Jaehaerys thought about what his grandfather had told him, feeling that it was a different lay of the truth. Still, it did not sound quite right. Not… whole.

Maekar nodded. "You are a very smart one, aren't you?" he said. At each chance he got, he spoke about Jaehaerys' abilities. For all his many makings, the boy would never be a warrior and that was what counted most in this realm. Aerys had always been looked down upon but he hadn't seemed to mind it if he had noticed it at all – it had been his choice. Jaehaerys, though… he had no _other_ choice. He would spend his entire life in his siblings' shadows. Maekar remembered only too well how much that hurt.

Jaehaerys didn't look at him. Maekar smiled. "There are three more questions that need to be asked and I think it's them you have in mind, whether you know it or not. And their answers are not so simple, especially for us Targaryens. If you rise too high, you'll always be talked about. And we've risen higher than everyone in Westeros. Are you ready?"

Jaehaerys hesitated. "I am."

" _Would have Baelor stopped what you now have with Queen Aelinor?_ He probably would have tried. I don't think he would have tolerated our relationship the way it is now. Most likely, he would have demanded that we wed. Which we would have done."

" _Maekar Targaryen, tell me honestly, weren't there some moments where you hated Baelor?_ There were. It's hard to have a brother who is as perfect as he was. Those were only moments, though. When all was said and done, I loved him and I would have never had him come to harm."

" _Don't you understand why, despite everything, they call you kinslayer? Why they think you meant it?_ I do understand. They believe the rumours, they believe the talks of intrigues, they see me sitting the throne that should have never been mine. When one sees the glitter of the crown, it's hard to see beyond."

Jaehaerys fell silent, biting his lip. He suddenly looked smaller than his years, a child trying to contemplate an adult world. For a moment, Maekar almost regretted burdening him with such a harsh reality but it soon passed. If he hadn't, the world would have soon. The world would never let Jaehaerys rest. That was the price of being Targaryen.

The winter sun filled the room, cold and glittering, turning Jaehaerys's hair into a silver halo. A servant entered with a flagon of cold water that Maekar required to be changed every day. Jaehaerys poured for both of them and drank. Maekar almost stopped him, imagining the fever that might come the next day. They didn't need two ill people. Aelinor was enough.

Jaehaerys looked at him. His voice was now so soft that Maekar had to lean closer to hear him. "Will Aunt Aelinor die?"

Maekar recoiled, as if the boy had struck him. "No," he said. "She won't."

Jaehaerys' eyes were huge and shadowed. "Uncle Daeron says that the end is coming for all of us. That the end and salvation would both come when I… when I ascend to the Iron Throne. The Little King, he calls me when it's just the two of us there."

Now, Maekar was in equal parts horrified and enraged. "How much cups had he had before he started blabbering this nonsense?" he asked.

Jaehaerys thought about that. "Six, or maybe seven. I don't know," he said meticulously.

Maekar nodded, feeling suddenly very old and tired. "You see? It was the wine talking, nothing more. Nothing to worry about."

"But I do." Jaehaerys' hands were clutching the velvet of his robe, twisting it. "I've always known that I wouldn't live to get old. But I am so sad for the rest of them."

Maekar was rendered speechless, feeling as if the boy was tearing his insides apart. Jaehaerys went on. "He says that he sees a day that would be fateful for all of us – Duncan, Rhaelle, Aemon, and I. He sees death looming all over us."

"He talks too much," Maekar said. "And I assure you, I'll make sure that the next time around, he'll think twice before he graces you with his drunken ramblings."

Now, Jaehaerys simply looked bewildered. Too late, Maekar realized his mistake. As stern and hardened as he was, he was always kind to his grandchildren. This deviation from normal could hardly put Jaehaerys' mind at rest.

"I can't see how anything can happen to Duncan," Jaehaerys said. All of a sudden, he became what he was – a painfully young child, insecure and confused. 'He's strong and healthy, he's smart and funny. Everyone likes him better – Mother and Father, the people in the Red Keep, the smallfolk… you."

Maekar shook his head. "No, not me."

"Even I like him better." Jaehaerys was in a world of his own when Maekar couldn't reach him. Now he realized why his grandson had started this conversation. Jaehaerys was trying to find his path in the world, to relate it to something that other people had experienced. "How can something happen to him?"

"Nothing will happen to him," Maekar said. 'I'll talk to your uncle. It's intolerable for him to scare you with his ramblings. _I_ will not tolerate it. Nothing will happen to Duncan, you, or anyone. Now, go to see your aunt and try to forget your uncle's nonsense. I assure you, he won't repeat it."

Jaehaerys looked down and bowed. "As you will, Your Grace."

Could he really forget the scary tales Daeron had obviously filled his head with? Maekar hoped so, even when he knew that he wouldn't forget them himself. All of a sudden, nightfall couldn't come soon enough. He couldn't wait to stay alone with Aelinor and bask in the soothing warmth her very nearness held for him. He could not tell her about Daeron's dreams, of course - she had a battle of her own to fight and he could not burden her with this. But just taking her in his arms and reassuring himself that she was safe and near would be enough to keep him going.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

This year, the court was met with the news that they wouldn't be leaving King's Landing for the annual visits through the realm – and very few harboured any doubts as to the reason. Aegon and Rhae were obviously sorry that the planned journey to Dorne had failed but Maekar had written to Daella that she was welcome at King's Landing if she so chose and that they were all in good health and would be happy to receive her family. But Aegon knew the truth and confided in Dunk that he was concerned for his Aunt's health and that it had been her who most fervently wished for Daella to come. Ser Galend confirmed it.

"I think she misses Daella," he said in a softer voice than usual, "and to me, that means that she needs support from those she loves. I think she's sicker than she admits."

Dunk didn't know what to say. Since the accident in the garden, no one had seen the Queen Dowager leaving her rooms – they said she didn't even leave her bedchamber. There were all sorts of speculations about her health. Even Aegon, Rhae and the children were not often in her company – visitors tired her, as beneficial as they were for her mood.

Ser Galend looked at the jasper floor. Then, he spoke in an even softer voice, "You know, Ser Duncan, I think that deep inside, they both know she'd very ill indeed. But don't say anything. They want to see you. Come on."

They entered the royal apartments. Everywhere, the guards recognized Ser Galend and raised their spears in salute. In no time at all, the two of them were at the door of the King's bedroom itself. Before them, Dunk recognized the two Kingsguard who hadn't let him in a few weeks ago. It was said that Maekar had been so furious with them that he had considered taking off their white cloaks.

Aelinor was seated in the far end of the room in an odd pose, shuddering slightly despite the heat from the fireplace. She waved them forward and Duncan had to hide his shock at her appearance. All of a sudden, he remembered the perfect marble statue he had likened her to when he had first seen her at Summerhall, all those years ago. Tried by hopes and disappointments, wasted by her ailment and intentional starvation, with time, Aelinor's stunning beauty had faded into a tortured echo of itself. All she had left now were her huge violet eyes.

The woman in the room looked like a stranger.

Maekar stood near the window. Dunk hadn't seen him in days – the only times the King left his chambers were to attend the meetings of the Small Council. He looked aged and weary, this was one of the very few times Dunk had seen him lacking the energy that seemed to keep him going through all circumstances. It was not always a good energy – sometimes, it was dark and harsh, prompting him to harsh things. But it was startling to see that it was not there.

Suddenly, Aelinor started coughing, heavily. Her hands flew to her chest and it was a while before she got her breath back. "It's a cold, I fear. Quite tiresome."

Slowly, the colour started coming back to her cheeks. Maekar gave her a goblet of dark liquid and she started sipping slowly.

"Ser Duncan, I am glad to see you," Maekar said. "You rendered me a great service but I'm afraid I quite forgot about you. Things have been too hectic. Still, that is no excuse. I'd like to thank you. I would have given the whole Westeros to you if I could but since this is impossible, I'll give you a small token of my esteem."

Dunk couldn't quite think of what to say, so he didn't say a thing. When he thought it might be a good idea to bow, it was already too late. "Here," Maekar said. "Take it."

He handed Dunk a rolled parchment and Dunk opened it, confused. Then, his confusion grew. Aegon had taught him his letters but this – the letter couldn't say what he thought it did, could it?

Maekar was looking at him. "It's a letter with my signature and seal. You'll need it in the stables. I'm giving you one of my horses, the black one. The Dornish stallion, along with his saddle and harness."

Dunk couldn't say a thing. The horse was easily the best one in King's Landing, a present from the Prince of Dorne to the King. He had seen it many times in the stables and in the fields and had always openly admired it, along with half the court. The horse alone was worth a fortune. The King's saddle and harness were worth another one.

"His name is Honour but I think you already know it. Enjoy him – I believe you will. And the gods know he'll enjoy you, too – he will get more exercise with you than he will with me."

Aelinor looked saddened. Since the accident, Maekar had given up his daily ride and she obviously felt guilty. She was about to say something but she started coughing again, his entire body shaking. Maekar tried to steady her and for a brief moment, against the velvet of her robe, Dunk saw the outline of her deformed hip – the leg had twisted almost squarely, making even sitting uncomfortable.

"Come on," Ser Galend said softly. "Let's go."

In the corridor, he leaned against the wall, his face pale and drawn. Dunk suddenly realized that for all his apparent control, the older man was deeply disturbed – and not only about Maekar, it seemed.

"How could it have come to this?" Ser Galend murmured. "How? When I remember her as she was, adored by the entire court, spoilt by her father, loved by Maekar… how could it have come to this?"

Embarrassed, Dunk looked aside to give him time to get a grip of himself. Unfortunately, aside didn't offer him any better – there was Ser Roland Crakehall who had spent the last forty or so years in the Kingsguard, near Aelinor and Maekar. He, too, looked stricken.

In a daze, Dunk walked slowly away from the royal apartments. It was not until much later that he realized that this was one of those moments he would remember to his dying day, the realization that Aegon and Rhae were not the only ones at the top of Aegon's Hill with hearts to break. So did the King and amazingly, so did the Kingsguard. Dunk had never thought that there might be something more to them than white cloaks.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

_A year later…_

It was already dark, yet the camp fires lit up the night, turning it into a burning day. The young girl was strangely grateful for them because she could see where she was going. She could now avoid the many corpses while otherwise she would have certainly tripped into one of them. Behind her, her old maid gave a whimper.

"Shut up!" the girl snapped at her. "If I, a princess of Westeros, can walk through the battlefield unaided, then you can certainly bear it as well."

Old Lanna got a grip at herself just when the girl slipped into something. A pool of blood. A scream came to her lips and she barely contained it but when a raven gave a startled crowing and rose in the dark sky shot by the scarlet wings of the fire, she shrieked.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, girl," the knight said. "It's only a bird."

 _A bird of death_ , she thought. Maybe it was that villain, the notorious Lord Bloodraven with the thousand eyes. Or no, he was said to have lost the position he had once held. Either way, she did her best to avoid looking at the corpses – both theirs and their enemies'.

Finally, she was led to the huge tent with the banners of four three-headed dragons. For a moment, her eyes were glued to the two white figures guarding the entrance. Their cloaks were pale like snow and red like blood. _So these are the famed knights of the Kingsguard_ , she thought. She had always wondered what they looked like – of all the things they had replicated for themselves at the Free Cities, the Kingsguard had not been one of them. Her uncle had intended to make a Kingsguard of his own and name her lord husband at it… but now that would never come to pass, of course.

When she stood at the entrance, she suddenly lost all her bravado. Still, she summoned whatever dignity she had and made the final steps before suffering the humiliation of being pushed forward.

The tent was brightly lit and quite empty, save for the few men gathered around the table. The knight leading her – he had never bother to tell her his name – hesitated, obviously unsure whether he had to go near or wait for them to finish. Finally, he decided to proceed to the table. However, the men were so preoccupied with their conversation that they didn't notice them.

"How many people did we lose, my lord Lannister?" one of them asked, his voice dark and heavy. "Do we know?"

A golden-haired man shrugged helplessly. "In the first attack, Your Grace, at least six hundred. In the midst of the battle – more than a thousand. Squires and men at-arms – we still don't know. Maybe five or six thousand."

The first man nodded grimly. "The widows will mourn for years," he said. "And I cannot even guarantee that their children are safe now. Daenerys once said…" He broke off and shook his head. "Never mind that. Have you brought him here?"

The men looked at each other, obviously unwilling to answer this question.

"Well?" he asked again. "Have you?"

Finally, a young man cleared his throat. His hair was silver-gold, his eyes dark in the torchlight but they might actually be purple. "The maesters did everything they could, Father, but he died from his wounds."

Silence. Then, "Fools! Idiots! The Seven help me, I am surrounded by fools and idiots." A heavy fist made the table shake and all of the men jump back instinctively. "We needed him alive," the man said after a while, his voice calmer now. "But I suppose it was not meant to be."

He looked up and for the first time noticed the three newcomers. "Well, my lord Arryn, what do we have here?"

The knight stepped forward and bowed. "I brought Alaenys Blackfyre, Your Grace, as you ordered."

For a moment, there was silence. And then, "Come here, girl."

She silently did. Lord Arryn nudged her sharply. "Bow to His Grace," he ordered.

She shook her head. "I see no king here. The real King is in the Free Cities."

The men gave her withering looks – all but the young man of silver-gold and the old usurper. Now that she was near, Alaenys gasped. They both looked so much like her menfolk at home, it was almost uncanny. They stared back, just as stunned. She gnawed at the inside of her lip.

One of the other men, young and dark, turned to Maekar, "It seems that the child has cultivated airs at Tyrosh that ill suits her. She's spent too much time listening to Bittersteel's suppositions."

"So it seems," the usurper agreed, his voice too kind for Alaenys' liking, his violet eyes measuring her up and down. "And she is indeed a child. When I heard that Bittersteel had bought Meereen's support by marriage alliance with a slave-trading family, I assumed he had given them a woman, not a little girl. How old are you, child?" he turned to her. "Nine? Ten?"

She erected her chin. "I am almost eleven," she spat. "Not that it is any of your business."

'Eleven!" he echoed. 'This time, Aegor went too far, even for him." His eyes narrowed and he changed the topic abruptly. "So you believe your family bears more right to the crown than me?" he asked bluntly.

Alaenys flinched involuntarily. The wrong answer might get her killed in a minute. Yet, death might be better than what the usurper had prepared for her… or her father and uncles, and Bittersteel, and especially her husband. Was Mazdhan mo Reznak still alive? She hoped he wasn't.

Then, she blurted, "I believe we are the rightful rulers of Westeros, King Aegon's sole heirs, and that Daeron the Falseborn has usurped our throne and killed those who were faithful. But in my veins runs blood as pure as yours for I, too, am of the royal house of Westeros."

"How dare you!" one of the men hissed but Maekar raised his hand to silence everyone.

"Is that so?" He did not shift a muscle. "Very well, then. I, of course, acknowledge that you are of our blood and since your husband is dead now, I see no reason to return you to Bittersteel. You will accompany us to King's Landing where you'll be put in my lady the Queen Dowager's service."

"I do not take orders from you," Alaenys said and then her fear made her too bold for her own good. "I'll never serve your whore!" she cried, outraged, and immediately realized that she had gone too far. Of their entire exchange, that was the thing that finally got Maekar Targaryen angry. He almost rose from his seat and she tensed. But he sat back and even smiled, his violet eyes suddenly cold and threatening.

"Really?" he said. "You'd better take your orders from me, child, otherwise you'll find out that your life can get a lot worse. No, I won't kill you and I won't let you starve. You need food to survive. Clothes, however, are a different matter. I imagine my lords will enjoy the sight of you very much in the great hall. It'll be a very peculiar... entertainment."

Alaenys felt how the blood drained from her face. He would do it. He would strip her naked in front of everyone. For a moment, her mind went blank with terror and then, to her surprise, Lanna stepped forward. "Forgive her, Your Grace," she said, bowing, her voice low and shaking. "All her life, she's been taught that she was a princess of Westeros and you were…" She paused. "She's a good girl, I assure you, and since her mother died, she's been left only to her father's care, and he… She…"

The usurper cut her explanations short with an impatient gesture of his hand. "Take the child away and give her a calming tonic if she needs it," he said. "Our maesters can assist you."

The silver-golden young man made a step toward them. "Come with me," he told Alaenys and she was about to follow when he surprised her by looking at her anxious nursemaid. "She'll be safe with me," he said to assuage her fears. "I am a father," he added. "This is my son."

That was the first time that Alaenys noticed the boy coming toward them from near the wall. He was two or three years older than her. Like her, he was indigo-eyed but sun-bronzed and dark-haired. He was looking at her with the same alertness and fascination that she was looking at him with. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

They left after bowing to Maekar – all but Alaenys. The last thing she heard was the renewed discussion about what they should do now.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

It was late in the night when Alaenys first saw the Red Keep she had listened so much about. In the light of torches, it looked like a palace from the fairytales she had listened to as a little girl. Of course, she had listened to many fairytales _about_ the Red Keep – Bittersteel and her father and uncles couldn't stop talking about it, especially when they were into their cups. Hundreds of times, she had imagined coming here as a victorious princess. Now, she was coming as a warprize, held by the usurper on his own horse. She couldn't have felt more humiliated if he had followed the time-honoured tradition and made her walk barefoot behind his stallion.

Despite the late hour, the Red Keep was buzzing with life. A young woman came out to meet them. All silver and pale skin, she could not be any other than Rhae, Prince Aegon's sister-wife. Duncan's mother. Alaenys was slightly surprised that she did not look much like Duncan. She had expected that he'd resemble his mother because he clearly didn't resemble his father.

A few steps behind Maekar, Alaenys heard a sudden gasp just when everyone was dismounting. Maekar's goodson ran past her and up the stairs where an old woman sat on a high-backed chair, a little bundle in her arms. "Your Grace," he said breathless. "Your Grace, is that…?"

"Yes, Alor, yes," she said. "He was born two days ago and since we didn't know where you were then, we couldn't send a raven. We decided to wait. Isn't he lovely?" she added and lifted the edge of the cloth to show him the babe's face.

Alor Gargalen looked at her, suddenly alert. "My lady, Daella…"

"She's fine. She's resting now," Aelinor said just when Maekar finally made a step towards them and looked at the newborn. "Her labour was quite hard and I didn't want to wake her up. Go on now, take him to her because he's…"

The newborn suddenly woke up and gave a mightly wail. "… hungry," Aelinor said.

Alor took the babe and himself off and Maekar looked at Aelinor. "Hungry, you say?" he echoed. "Good. I'm glad to see he didn't mean to show how little like he has of us."

She laughed and then coughed. Without further delay, Maekar leaned over and lifted her up to carry her inside, going past a litter with two sturdy servants. Alaenys stood where she was, stunned by what she had seen. She had expected Maekar's whore to be an alluring creature, as beautiful as Bittersteel had described her, and desperately trying to preserve her youth to keep her royal lover. Instead, Aelinor was an aging woman who had lost her looks – and her health, it seemed, if her apparent frailty and the fact that she needed to be carried around in a litter were something to go by.

What else about Westeros was nothing like she had expected?

A new thud of hooves made everyone turned around. In the torchlight, Alaenys saw Prince Aegon making a step towards the newcomer – a fair-haired maester, as exhausted as his horse.

"What happened?" the Prince asked.

"The worst," the maester said and dismounted. "I need to talk to Father. Come with me."

* * *

_A few days later…_

"So, what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

The last candle in the candelabrum hissed and died. Aegon stood up to replace it and a few others but reconsidered and returned to his place near the window occupying a whole wall, from floor to ceiling. Aemon was sitting on the carpet and Aegon did the same. Between them, Rhae stirred on her pillows. "Egg?" she said sleepily. "What?..."

"Go back to sleep," Aegon said but she didn't. She rested her chin atop her hands and looked at him, then Aemon. "I can't believe I fell asleep," she murmured.

"It's all right," Aemon said. "Jaehaerys again?"

"Who else!" Rhae sighed. "He ran a fever again. Is he ever going to be healthy?"

"I'll have a look at him," Aemon promised.

Again, they fell silent.

"Did he die peacefully?" Rhae finally asked. She was, unfortunately, fully informed about the rumours flying all over Westeros about the nature of their eldest brother's death and some of them were bad enough to give her nightmares.

Aemon hesitated, the perspective of lying suddenly very appealing. But it would not do. "No," he said simply, shortly. Daeron had never found peace in life, so why would he find it when dying?

"He wasn't a bad man," Aegon said, suddenly angry. "T'was a shame what happened to him."

Aemon looked at him with sad wonder at his naiveté. "Do you still believe that everyone gets what they deserve?" he asked.

Aegon was silent.

"Do you mind if I join you?" a familiar voice asked from the door.

They all startled and were about to rise but their father stopped them with a gesture before taking a seat himself.

For a while, there was only silence.

"I want to talk to you," Maekar suddenly announced, as if they couldn't possibly gather this much,

The three of them looked at each other. "We are listening," Aegon said for all of them.

Maekar took a deep breath. "I intend to change the law of succession," he said.

Rhae gasped. Aegon and Aemon exchanged a look, as if they were asking whether they had heard right.

Maekar went on. "I've been thinking about it for a while. And now I am sure that this is the only course possible. Aerion proved to be quite… lacking. Not what the Seven Kingdoms need."

That was quite the understatement. His children could understand his reasoning but it affected them in ways none of them wanted to think about.

Maekar stood up and went to the window. In the beginning of his reign, Aegon had built the small palace within the Red Keep for his family. The chamber with the window wall had been Rhae's idea. Both she and Aegon liked sitting here and watch King's Landing. Now, Maekar did the same, looking at the sleeping city, at the brightly lit Great Septa of Baelor where women still prayed to the Mother to welcome their husbands, perished in the last battle. Earlier today, the court had prayed for Daeron there, although the manner of his death had been far less honourable, as little honour as there was in war.

Maekar suddenly turned back to face his children. "Aemon, I'll arrange for you to be released from your vows," he said. "I'll talk this over with the Great Septon and the Grand Maester."

"No," Aemon stated softly but firmly. "I am not worthy… I am not prepared for reigning, Father."

"And you think Aerion is?" Maekar asked.

To this, Aemon had no answer. Aegon and Rhae looked at each other terrified, the realization of what this could mean to them slowly dawning.

Aemon looked thoughtful. "I can see your point, Father," he said. "But I am only a maester. Not a King's material."

Maekar glanced briefly at his other son. "Aegon might disagree," he said. "Anyway, you may settle it among yourselves and inform me when you've reached a decision. But be quick, otherwise I'll be the one making the decision. I am not leaving Westeros to Aerion's whims and that's final."

The idea of Aerion as king made the three siblings shudder. He was bad enough now when Maekar could still restrain him… but if there was no authority he would answer to?

Maekar nodded, as if he could hear what they were thinking and agreed. "I think I did all I could do for Aerion," he said. "But the madness is strong within him; his curse is my blood. I cannot allow it to taint the Iron Throne." He paused. "I'll make the arrangements in full secret, to be disclosed only when everything it completed. We need to avoid any hindrances."

Rhae closed her eyes but even she didn't protest.

Again, Maekar looked at the city and then looked at them. "I don't want him to come to harm," he spoke again, his voice even. "If that is possible."

Aegon and Aemon nodded.

"Good," Maekar said. "Tomorrow, I'll order the maesters to start looking for precedents."

"There aren't any," Aemon said without thinking. "Not in the Targaryen history anyway."

Maekar knew that, of course, but Westeros had existed for thousands of years before Targaryens. Maesters could always be relied on to find precedents for this and that – in fact, everything the occupant of the throne wished to do.

"Tell me when you reach your decision," he said and left. The Kingsguard who had accompanied him waited at the door. Maekar briefly wondered how much he had heard. Not that it mattered. Ser Roland was absolutely loyal.

He stepped into his bedchamber softly, expecting to find Aelinor asleep under the effect of her potions. But she met him with a question. "Did you tell them?"

"I did."

"And how did they take it?"

"Badly," Maekar said as he was taking his clothes off. Now that it was all over, he was suddenly tired, weary to the bones and cold, so cold…

She held out a hand, wordlessly, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Aelinor," he murmured. All the pain, all the disillusionment, all the disappointments, the neverending battles, Daeron's death, the truth about Aerion's nature – all was in her name.

"Come here," she breathed.

He blew out the single candle at the table. The chamber was suddenly full of the remnants of candle smoke and perfume, and pain-numbing potions, and pain that could not be numbed, and he sank into her arms.


	12. Chapter 12

_A few months later…_

The winter roses were like magic to Alaenys. Something in their cold, haughty beauty called to her with the fascination of the new, unknown, untasted. There were no such flowers in Essos and in truth, she had never seen a glass garden, so she often rose early and went to look at them before picking a bunch of them for the Queen's chambers… or rather, the King's chambers. _No, no, the usurper's_ , the girl checked herself but in her short time in King's Landing, she had started thinking that her family would never sit the Iron Throne. Never. It was all good and inspiring to listen to their people's vows of revenge in Tyrosh but with all those lords, all those counselors, all those man-at-arms, all those people in the city paying homage to the Iron Throne and its current occupant it seemed unreal that the Blackfyres will ever be able to reclaim their birthright. They would keep trying and Daeron's descendants would keep holding them back at the costs of many bloodsheds like the one Alaenys had seen only a few months ago. Meanwhile, she would probably be married off to some minor knight or loyal supporter of the current King. Neither option sounded in the least bit attractive. She would gladly join the Silent Sisters instead. She didn't want any men.

Every day after dusk, she went to have a look at the glass gardens before she went to perform her duties with the Queen. Aelinor claimed that Alaenys made the best mixes for her bathwater, so the girl was charged with taking care of the Queen's bath every evening and morning. Aelinor spent much time in the bathchamber – it was well known that hot water soothed her pains somewhat. Alaenys was not sure how poorly the old woman's leg was – no one ever saw Aelinor naked except for her oldest attendants and the King, of course. As hard as she tried, Alaenys simply could not get _that_. The King was no longer young but he was still strong and vigorous. What kept him so powerfully at the side of this ailing woman with her faded beauty, her pain-numbing potions and her need of constant care? She could not accompany him anywhere. She could not even enter the tub on her own. She was no match for his energy. Yet he never looked at another woman twice. It was as if he didn't see what she looked like. He attended her in everything, from the moment he entered their chambers in the evening to the moment he left early in the morning. _What can she give him in return?_ the girl wondered. Except for the obvious, of course. Once, when she had forgotten that everyone was supposed to leave the moment Maekar came back to his chambers, she had seen them in bed – or rather, heard them from the other side of the door. Despite her illness, Aelinor did seem to be quite good at bedsport when she felt good. Well, that was to be expected of Maekar's whore. But what had Alaenys really shocked was the fact that Aelinor seemed to enjoy the activity as much as the King did. Alaenys had thought it was a given that men enjoyed it and women suffered it.

Today, she intended to place a few petals of winter roses into Aelinor's bathwater. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed mixing oils and fragrances into different aromas. Maybe she could learn to make soaps. She laughed at herself and shook her head at the idea. A soapmaker. It sounded just as ridiculous for a princess of Westeros as it did for a hostage of the King's.

'What is so amusing?" someone drawled and she startled, trying to make out the man's features in the fading light. His voice sounded commanding, so he must be someone…

A hand gripped hers and squeezed so hard that she gasped. Tears welled up in her eyes. Too late, she realized who she was dealing with. Prince Duncan, whom she had taken quite a liking to despite his being of Daeron the Falseborn's line, spoke of his uncle with barely contained disdain. Aelinor's voice became carefully even whenever she mentioned him. And her ladies were terrified of him. Too late, Alaenys realized why this was.

"How dare you disdain the future King of Westeros?" Aerion snarled; terrified, Alaenys wished she could turn back the time and curtsy. There were black spots dancing before her eyes. He would break her hand any minute now.

Then, the echo of steps, the sound of a voice. "Let her go."

The hand squeezing hers was now gone. Alaenys breathed, shaking. Never had the air tasted so sweet. When the spots disappeared, she turned to her savior. Under the light of the torches two servants brought in front of him, she recognized the silver hair, the hard profile. The King. She had never seen a more welcome sight.

"She assaulted me," Aerion spat. "She didn't curtsy when I passed."

Maekar, though, was clearly unimpressed. "She doesn't curtsy when _I_ pass," he said, icily. "You don't see me breaking her bones, do you?"

Aerion did not back up. "Then she's too arrogant for her own good. She needs to be taught her place. I won't tolerate a Blackfyre acting superior."

Maekar looked at his son with something very much like disdain. Then, his eyes moved to Alaenys. "Off with you, child," he said. "Go and see to this hand. If it swells or numbs, go the Grand Maester. Tell him I've sent you."

Alaenys didn't need to be told twice: she took off, resisting the urge to look at Prince Aerion over her shoulder, just to be sure that he hadn't followed. For the first time, she realized how gentle the rest of the family was compared to him. Prince Aegon and Princess Rhae always treated her kindly. Their children were friendly and approachable – all save Jaehaerys but he was a weakling and a bookworm so he didn't count. Princess Daella was the gentlest woman ever born. The Queen never made anyone redo a botched task. Even the King, for all his bad temper, had never hurt anyone just for the sake of hurting them. After their first clash, he had simply stopped noticing her and when he did, he treated her as he treated every other attendant of Aelinor's. Aerion, though… she did not want to get his notice ever again. The thought that she might be still in the Red Keep when he inherited was terrifying.

For a moment Maekar watched her leave the perimeter of the torchlight, and then looked at his son stonily. "You are going too far," he warned. "You are not to infringe my authority, do you hear me? I won't have it."

Aerion looked indignant. "I was not infringing your authority, Father," he said. "I was merely teaching an impudent brat a lesson."

In the cold winter night, Maekar's resolve hardened like another block of ice. "It doesn't matter," he said. "She isn't yours to beat. Or are you so deluded that you think you're already sitting in my place?"

As arrogant as Aerion was, this question made him pale. "I… no. No. Of course not."

Maekar nodded. "Good. Because I want you to keep that in mind: you only have the authority I see fit to give you. Stay away from the Blackfyre girl. And if I ever see you harm someone within these walls, if I only hear about such a thing, don't hold me responsible for the aftermath, Aerion."

He turned aside and proceeded for his apartments. He did not look at his son, so he didn't see the look in Aerion's eyes, the disbelieving realization.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

"No one can ridicule me!"

"Of course not, my Prince."

"Not the Blackfyre lass."

"Of course not," Ronnel Rossart agreed.

Aerion downed his drink. "Not even my lord father!"

Rossart was still not as drunk as not to realize that they were going on dangerous ground. He coughed. "Errr, Your Grace…"

Aerion laughed. "What is it that you're afraid of? These are my chambers. Besides, my father is not here. He is with his harlot, as always. I wonder what he finds in her… she can barely rise from her bed, let alone _do_ something in bed."

The other men joined in the laughter but quite sparingly. Fools. Cowards. They dined and drank with him but they crawled in the whore's feet each time she managed to leave his father's chambers. They would crawl at the feet of anyone Maekar saw fit to replace him with. There was no doubt in his mind that it was what his father intended. He was going to put the maester into Aerion's place. Or the insolent brat. Aerion did not know which one was worse. Why, Maekar was able to change the very laws of succession and place even Daella and her Dornish spawns before his eldest surviving son. _He was always blind when it came to those bitches._ The King had always treated his daughters with kindness and generosity, so much better than his sons, not that the blasted women deserved it. But now Maekar had gone too far.

"I will not be denied!" Aerion erupted, much to the stunned surprise of his guests. He stumbled to the room where the jar was. He had stolen it years ago and it was time to put it to good use. They would all know that they could not make fun of him. All of them – his father, the harlot, his damned brothers. They would all grovel at his feet when he incinerated them…

He laughed when he removed the lid. He laughed before he drank.

His face still bore the marks of laughter when they dug him out of the pyre the chamber had become.

* * *

_A week later…_

Aelinor did not attend the funeral – she could never stay upright for this long without a huge amount of her potions and if she took it, she'd fall asleep the moment she sat down after her return. So she stayed in her chambers with a few of her attendants, her book all but forgotten at her side, her mind turned to times long gone.

Maekar came immediately after it was over and waved the attendants off. They felt in a flurry of curtsies and rustling skirts. He sat on the couch next to her and took her hands in his own. For the first time since she could remember hers were warmer. She squeezed his fingers and rubbed them in a vain attempt to get them warm. "I am so sorry," she whispered. _I am sorry because of you,_ was what she meant but she did not say it.

"I am not," he said and she startled, drawing back to look at him. His voice was strangely even, his face grim and severe, and torn by self-disgust. "All I feel is… relief. He will harass us no longer."

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh Maekar.'

So it had come to this. Aelinor was suddenly so enraged that if Aerion could have stood before her alive again, she might have forced the wildfire back into his throat single-handedly. _How dare he do this to him_ , she thought. After all the advantages he had been born with, after all the chances they had given him again and again Aerion had driven them to this – feeling relieved at his death. _It must be sickening to Maekar_ , she thought and snuggled up to him, so they could hold to the only mainstay they had ever had in their lives - each other. He closed his eyes and held her tight, feeling that he'd go mad if he didn't have her to hold onto. It was too much, far too much. Even for a man like him. The constant battles, the long winter, the failed crops, the misery of his people that he was unable to alleviate, the death of his sons and all his efforts to make them better men, and now – the final realization that he was so weary of everything that Aerion's death was just a problem solved. He was disgusted with himself. For the briefest of moments, he wondered how Aelinor could still want the man he had become. With aging, he got more attached to her and she never denied him. He wasn't sure that he could do the same in her place. But then, she had always been a better person than him.

"Come on," she murmured. "Let's go to bed."

So they did and he finally fell asleep in her arms and she stayed awake, stroking his face and trying in vain to find a way to make things easier.


	13. Chapter 13

_A few months later…_

"It's a boar!" Duncan yelled and lifted his spear, only to be taken aback when their prey lumbered out of the thicket, far closer than they had expected. It was not a boar at all. It was a bear, a cub. It stood on its hind legs and looked at them curiously over the grass. For a moment, Maekar thought he was hearing some grunting but there was none. Suddenly amused, he thought that he was just being ridiculous, something that happened to him often when his grandchildren were around. No, the cub had no intention to attack Duncan or anyone, for that matter. _Poor fool,_ Maekar thought. _He still doesn't feel threatened._ _He doesn't know what to expect from humans._

Duncan aimed.

"Don't!" a girl's voice cried. Alaenys Blackfyre. Startled, Duncan lowered the spear. The cub inclined its head and looked at Alaenys.

"What?" Duncan asked. "What is it?"

"Don't," Rhaelle said. "See how lovely he is."

Duncan gaped at her. She glared. He shook his head and looked at his father and grandfather. Aegon bit back a smile. Maekar didn't even bother with this. Duncan had been the one who insisted that the girls be allowed to come. If he was to take ladies hunting, he'd better learn what to expect of them.

Meanwhile, the cub proved not to be as foolish as Maekar had thought it: it had promptly disappeared, finally scared into running away. Rhaelle applauded by clapping her hands. The Blackfyre girl seemed to remember that she was just a war prize and should not maniferst her feelings, so she only smiled. Duncan sighed in disappointment that their last day of hunting would not produce anything of worth and took down the spear. He did not berate the two girls, though. Young as he was, he seemed to recognize when he was at fault: he might have thrown the spear despite their protests. He had chosen not to. Lately, when he looked at him, Maekar was reminded more sharply than ever of another dark-haired boy with indigo eyes and a moral code of his own, an older brother he had loved. And the guilt that he had felt because of his later resentment for Baelor made him more yielding to Duncan than what was good for the boy. Fortunately, Duncan seemed to have it in him to survive his grandfather's fondness unscathed.

Duncan would become a force to be reckoned with, a king with much potential if it came to this – and it might well come. After Aerion's death, changing the laws of succession was no longer an emergency but Maekar would have to make a decision one day. Yes, Duncan was quite close to the crown. _Uncle Daeron said that one day I'd ascend to the Iron Throne,_ Jaehaerys' voice echoed suddenly in the King's mind, unbidden. Maekar's skin crawled. No. Nothing would happen to Aemon _or_ Duncan. No.

"The day is over," he announced. "We are going back to the hunting lodge."

Three knights of the Kingsguard surrounded him while the other two kept an eye on Aegon, Duncan, and Rhaelle. Ser Galend looked in the direction where the cub had disappeared, shook his head, and smiled. Rhaelle and Alaenys Blackfyre still looked delighted.

It was such a nice respite from the dark mood looming over King's Landing and the Red Keep. Maekar almost regretted that they had to come back. He didn't have the tiniest wish to meet the Small Council and discuss the new bunch of problems he was served any day.

The skies suddenly opened and started pouring their tears of grief – or joy, maybe? While the others tried to shield their heads as best as they could, Maekar looked up and felt the raindrops on his face, savored them.

 _Pray that it rains, Maekar,_ his mother had often told him when he was very young. _Rain means rich harvest, and swelling rivers, and no one dying of thirst. Rain means life._

Princess Myriah had never stopped relishing the wonder that was rain, the wonder that was so rare in the sands of Sunspear.

 _But it's Summerhall here, Lady Mother,_ Maekar heard his own voice, from half a century ago. _What's true for Dorne is not always true here._

Princess Myriah smiled and touched his pale hand, so different from her own olive skin. _But I am true,_ she replied. _And what is true for Dorne is very often true here, too. We are not so different, Dornishmen and Westerosi. And you, Maekar, you should have something of Dorne. At first, I thought I could make all of you wholly Westerosi but then I knew I must give you Dorne also, for Dorne is myself. You belong to his entire land – you, and your brothers, and your sister. To your father and to me both. To this entire continent. Pray that it rains, for rain brings joy._

 _I am praying,_ Maekar now thought. _I am praying that summer comes, and rains come with it, and we can finally have peace._ But this thought disappeared fast. The day was not cold, the wind was refreshing and the rain felt like caress on his face and not the heavy blows winter rain so often beat them with. As they were riding toward the hunting lodge, for a while he felt as if he were floating over calm waters. He didn't think of the kingdom, the world, or himself. He simply was, and he was one with everything around, a condition that filled him with inexpressible contentment and hadn't come to him in years. For a while, he could simply enjoy the falling of the rain that his mother had taught him to love. For a while, he could simply be.

* * *

_The next day…_

King Aegon had held the meeting of the Small Council in an ornate hall that was wildly inappropriate for a council that was so… small. It was, in fact, big enough to host a great feast for the entire court, and the foreign ambassadors, also! In his weird sense of humour, the King had ordered a huge table that required constant shouting if the members of the Council were to hear each other.

King Daeron had held his meetings in a small, sparsely lit chamber, lit by many candelabra – a chamber for doing business, managing many things at once. Despite the servants' best efforts, there were always parchments scattered around.

King Aerys had rarely visited such meetings, so it had fallen on the Hand of the King, Lord Brynden Rivers, to furnish the chamber to his liking. He had kept Daeron's chamber, adding to the parchments a good deal of vials and weird looking gems people associated with sorcery.

Maekar had kept the chamber, too, only removing parchments, vials, and gems. He hated any disorder and the papers were neatly divided in bunches, with the most relevant ones awaiting the Council's attention on the table and the others kept in the cabinets lining the walls. The chamber now looked austere and well-organized, like a battlefield. Which was just like Maekar felt when he entered it about half an hour after returning from his hunting trip.

"What?" he asked, incredulous, when he heard the first problem that was revealed to him. "The Sunset Sea _flooded_ Lannisport? The sea walls were _demolished_?"

The Master of Ships, his good-son Alor Gargalen, nodded grimly. "I happened to be there immediately after the storm. I came back just yesterday, Your Grace. It's true. The great sea walls are no more."

Maekar gritted his teeth. "How could such a thing happen, my lord?" he asked sharply. "Were the walls dilapidated, or what?"

Lord Gargalen shook his head. His finely chiseled face was ashen and gaunt with insomnia. "No, the walls were in perfect condition, Your Grace. It's just that the long winter did its job in eroding the ground and feeding the sea at the same time. A great storm was all that was needed for the sea to come over the city. We are lucky that the captains there did not lose time in securing their ships further, so we only lost one."

Maekar bit his lip and reached for his goblet of water to moist his suddenly dry throat. "How many people did we lose?" he asked.

"A fifth of the citizenry, Your Grace."

A fifth of the populace of a thriving city. Maekar didn't even want to imagine the size of the destruction that had brought such a terrifying result. "We must aid Lord Lannister," he said. "And the city."

"I already saw to that, Your Grace," the Hand of the King spoke. "The Master of Coin and I sent what we thought we could reasonably spare in your absence."

Maekar nodded. "Good," he said. "We'll see how much more we can send."

Lord Richerd Warrick, the Master of Coin, looked up from his papers. "It's too little, Your Grace," he said. "No more than a few hundred dragons."

Maekar considered. "If I pay out of my own pocket?" he asked. "There are some estates and gems that are my own and not the Iron Throne. And we need to fortify Lannisport better."

Of course, Lord Lannister could pay for that himself. Maekar just didn't want that. It would set a dangerous precedent. High Lords should not be allowed to build major castles and fortresses on their own whim – or even when it looked like it was on their own whim. They ought to do it only with the permission and financing of the Iron Throne.

Lord Warrick looked hesitant. "There is only one way," he said. "We had to work out a new agreement with the Iron Bank."

Maekar heaved a sigh. He hated being in debt, and the Seven Kingdoms had been in debt to the Iron Bank ever since the first Blackfyre Rebellion. Now, it was time for the last installment. He had waited so eagerly to be free of his obligation to the Braavosi. _I hope the Raven Teeth's aim wasn't too good,_ he thought maliciously. _That fool Daemon deserved to suffer for all the suffering he caused without thinking._

"Very well," he said. "Start the negotiations immediately."

When he entered his bedchamber, it was almost midnight. Aelinor was already asleep on her side, with her hands between her thighs, as if she were cold. She was always cold, despite all the coverings she buried herself under and the fire that was constantly burning in the fireplace. Disheartened and tired to the bones, Maekar removed his clothing and lay down behind her, adjusting his body around the curve of hers. She murmured something without waking up and snuggled close. He draped an arm around her, felt the beating of her heart and caught, like a fluttering echo, the soft current of the oneness he had floated free and at peace on under the falling rain.

* * *

_The next day…_

Later, some alleged that they had heard Alaenys Blackfyre's scream all the way from the King's chambers to the courtyard. It was surely a lie but the truth was not so far off. Princess Rhae was headed for her own chambers in the Red Keep when the girl's shriek made everyone look up. The Kingsguard following Rhae promptly drew his sword.

When they made their way to the royal apartment, it was already crowded with people. The knight was forced to literally open a path for the Princess through the wall of human bodies and stunned looks.

Maekar and one of the servants had already taken Aelinor out of the tub and two maesters, one of them the Grand Maester himself, were working fervently on her, trying to make her breathe. Someone barked an order for everyone to leave. They all did – all but Maekar and Rhae. And Alaenys who was too shocked to move. She was still standing with her back pressed to the wall of the bathchamber. Through the open door, Rhae saw the petals of winter roses scattered all over the floor and on one side – the basket that the girl had obviously been holding upon entering the bathchamber.

The maesters were still at work, to no avail. Rhae closed her eyes and started praying.

Finally – was it moment, or days after? – the Grand Maester looked up. His old wrinkled face was creased with fear. "Your Grace," he said. "It was too late."

Maekar nodded. "I know," he said so evenly that Rhae startled.

"There is nothing that anyone can do for Her Grace."

Maekar nodded again. "I know," he said again. His eyes were glued on the remains on the bed, the body that only this morning had been Aelinor.

"Call her attendants," he spoke, still with this unnaturally even voice. Then, he crossed to the bed. With fear and growing terror, Rhae, Alaenys, and the maesters saw how he pulled the edge of the bedcover over Aelinor's deformed hip and leg, very carefully. He didn't pay them any attention.

Aelinor would not have wanted her deformity to be seen.

* * *

_Three days later…_

The moment Brynden Rivers was escorted to the chamber and in Maekar's presence, he knew it was over. Oh it wasn't the throne room, the Iron Throne, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It was a small chamber Maekar used as his private office. And he was sitting at a small table, alone, save for the single Kingsguard near the window. A single candelabra provided the only light in the room, illuminating the King's hardened face and sunken eyes. They looked almost black now.

 _It seems you still haven't got my brother_ , Baelor had told Brynden decades ago. _I'll give you a clue. When he's angry, he shouts, he rages, he delivers blows. When he's mad with rage, he's as calm and cold as ice and the Seven help the poor soul who is at the aim of his rage._

"Explain yourself."

Not for a moment did Bloodraven delude himself into thinking that he could give an explanation that Maekar would _accept_. He answered, anyway, and what he said was the truth. "When I first gave her the potion, I warned her that in greater amount, it was sleep-inducing. Back then, she was not so gaunt. When I later gave her the recipe to give to the maesters to prepare, I warned her that she should take a smaller amount now that she no longer ate as much as she should. I suppose the pain was so strong that she took a greater dose and it started working while she was in the tub, causing her to fall asleep."

 _And drown_ , he added mentally. He still had difficulties wrapping his mind around this. The very idea that Aelinor could drown into her own tub, in the royal chambers, in the middle of the Red Keep, would have sounded ridiculous to him only a few days ago.

Maekar didn't take his eyes off the former Hand of the King. He had known that one day, Aelinor would do something past remedy but had he known that it would have come out of her willful starvation, he would have force-fed her. But she was no longer there, so he could not shake her and tell her what a fool she was and that he was having none of it any more. There was only the void – the void in the other side of the bed, the void in his heart. And the anger he could direct at the only one person left for him to blame.

"So, it was a mishap and a miscalculation of the dose," he said.

Lord Bloodraven nodded. "It was," he said. "And I regret it."

 _As if I can make any use of your regret_ , Maekar thought. _It won't bring her back._ Still, he did not doubt for a moment that it was the truth. It had been a mishap, much like another one twenty four years ago.

He looked up. The Kingsguard stepped forward.

The King said curtly, "In the black cells."


	14. Chapter 14

_A day later…_

Aelinor of House Targaryen went to the flames in a pyre that did not want to burn and then suddenly burned so bright that it turned the night into a shining day. The cold wind bit at her cheeks, stirred the magnificent gown in red and black that had recently been repaired many times to fit her ever emaciating frame. For a first time, cold did not harm her. Dead could not feel cold.

From her place near the pyre, Rhae wept silently. Aegon had his arm about her shoulders, for once not caring whether the court would think them weak. Since they were very young children, Aelinor had been the dominant female figure in their lives, always good and attentive to them.

A few steps away from their parents, Duncan, Jaehaerys, and Rhaelle stood, holding hands, their eyes in different shades of purple wide and brimming with tears. The youngest one had been left home with his nursemaid. All three of them were still trying to absorb what was happening. That was the first time they lost someone close to them.

Princess Daella was trying to imagine what her uncle Aerys' funeral must have been like. These thoughts were mixed with the memory of her most recent encounter with Aelinor just a few days ago when they had been talking about Daella's children and making plans. Just a few days ago. It already felt like a lifetime. She bit her lip to keep the sobs from bursting out and sought her husband's hand silently.

For once, the courtiers did not dare whisper among themselves, lest they attracted the King's notice. The steward of the Red Keep, a man who had been serving the Targaryens faithfully for thirty years, had just been dismissed – harshly – for saying that it should have been expected, that it was a miracle the Queen had survived so far when everyone knew that she barely ate. Maekar had been heard raising his voice even to Princess Rhaelle – something that had never happened before. No, it was wise to stay as hushed as possible. Which did not mean that rumours had not started circulating. More than one of them was linked to the dark-haired girl who now stood at the rear end of the crowd, her eyes still disbelieving and full of something that some interpreted as grief and others as remorse. After all, Aelinor had been a frail woman, barely able to control what was happening a few steps away from her and Alaenys _was_ a Blackfyre.

The flames were now reaching for the night sky, hiding the stars behind their dark glowing. Maekar stood silently, his eyes fixed on the veil of fire that at one moment revealed the face of the woman on the pyre and at another hid it, engulfing her like a caress. He stood and felt how these flames sucked the very life out of him, the will, the ability to think clear. There had never been a moment in his life when Aelinor hadn't been there, they had always been together. _He's your present,_ Daeron the Good had told his daughter the day Maekar had been born, which coincidentally had been Aelinor's second nameday. Aelinor had taken these words very seriously, announcing that Maekar was hers to everyone who would listen. In the beginning, he had been another plaything for her, a much more interesting one because he reacted to her caresses and nudges. Later, when he'd reached an age that allowed him a sensible interaction, they had become inseparable. Even in the moments when they had hated each other, the bond had always been there, the love, the attraction – and the helpless longing that it wasn't. Now, the bond was severed all of a sudden, something Maekar hadn't been prepared for despite Aelinor's rapid decline. His mind simply rejected the idea of a world without Aelinor in it. It was unacceptable to him. He had never lived in such a world.

Still staring at the pyre, he didn't feel the flow of time. He didn't register the courtiers leaving one by one. Finally, Aegon came near, albeit hesitantly. "Aren't you going to go back inside?" he asked.

Maekar startled and realized that he was surrounded by purple eyes and silver heads, the only exception being the dark hair of Daella and her husband. "Why are you still here?" he snapped. "The last thing we need is for anyone to get sick. Gods, Rhaelle is as pale as ghost… and don't get me started about Jaehaerys. Go inside. All of you."

Aegon hesitated and looked at Rhae, which only angered Maekar further. He was not the one who needed looking after. Those two would get their children ill in their misconception that Maekar needed help. He was perfectly fine.

Before the King could do something truly incongruous, like lashing out in front of Aelinor's pyre that was still burning, Ser Galend quickly intervened. "Don't worry," he said in low voice. "I'll stay ."

Again, they were not convinced. But then Daella, by far the most intuitive out of all of them, sighed and said softly, "I'm going back inside."

One by one, the others followed. Maekar stayed where he was and once again stared at the flames. Just once, he turned to Ser Galend and said, "If you are cold, go inside."

"I am not," Ser Galend said.

So they stayed silent, until the pyre burned itself out, until all that was left of Aelinor was ash and memories.

* * *

_Five days later…_

"Are you ill?"

"No," Maekar said. "Don't worry. I'll be all right."

Aegon wasn't convinced in the least. He had not expected his father to attend the meeting of the Small Council for a few days and Maekar hadn't. However, the young man hadn't expected to see his father in such a state, either: pale and obviously sleep-deprived, Maekar sat in a chair in his bedchamber, leaning his head against the back. He was always a man of action, yet now he couldn't be bothered even to look at Aegon while he was pacing the spacious room. Even more disturbing was the state of the bedchamber: at every table available, there were platters of food, most of them untouched and if Aegon wasn't wrong, some of them hadn't been exactly brought this morning. Maekar was meticulous regarding order and the only things out of place around him had been random items belonging to his children and things that Aelinor couldn't be bothered to remove. That had been a common theme of their petty fights: he always cleared things away and she always got angry when she couldn't find what she was looking for… but it was all in the past now. Even the great bed was not made, showing that Maekar still slept in half of it, instead of spreading over. It was still too early after her death, yet Aegon couldn't help but be alarmed. He had never seen his father like this. Starting with the fact that Maekar had sent an innocent man in the black cells. If anyone was to blame for Aelinor's death, it was the Queen herself, as much as it pained Aegon to admit it. Maybe if they had taken better care of her… but how were they to foresee _this_?

"Don't worry," Maekar said again, still not looking at him. "I'll be all right at the end. It's just temporary. Go and calm all of them that I am not giving up just yet."

Aegon stopped pacing. "I can't," he said. "Not worrying, I mean. And neither can Rhae and Daella."

Maekar shrugged indifferently. "Go on, then. Worry all you want if you insist on doing it. But I'm telling you, there's no need."

Aegon was not in the least bit convinced. But Ser Galend said the same, in the antechamber. "He'll come out of it, eventually. He always does."

Aegon startled. "What do you mean, he always does? That such a thing has happened before?"

The older man shrugged and lowered his voice despite the fact that the only ones present were the Prince, his huge friend, and two Kingsguard. "He's been having such episodes since before I knew him. Something triggers them. Some shock. Or when a terrible crisis has been resolved and he's very tired. Then, it comes. Lethargy and despair. Lacking energy for leaving his room – actually, today it's the first day he rose from his _bed_. These last from a few days to a week. They are very rare, sometimes there are years between them but they do happen. Eventually, he always comes out of it."

Aegon was stunned. "I never knew."

"Very few know. We were always able to hide the truth about his condition. And it happens very rarely, truly."

Aegon wondered how many of these days his father had not left his bedchamber had been because he'd been in the state he had just seen him in. No one had thought about it twice – everyone had just waved it off with the explanation, "He's with the Queen." And he truly had been. Of course, the problem was that now he _wasn't_ with the Queen.

Aegon already knew that he wouldn't tell Rhae or Daella anything about this.

* * *

A few weeks later…

" _I've always looked for a combination of the Father and the Warrior," Aelinor said. Her arms were folded; her eyes were looking up, straight in his. "I thought you were it."_

" _I am sorry," Maekar replied. "I've never pretended to be the Father."_

" _Oh but you did." There was no anger in Aelinor's voice. "You always looked so… righteous. That's why your host is looking up to you, I think. You ooze confidence. Unlike me. I ooze… irresponsibility. But I am much more fun than you."_

_He touched her hair, the same pale silver as his own. "You have too much power over me," he said. "I have to pretend that it doesn't matter, that you don't matter. One day, it will become true. I'll make it true."_

_She laughed and didn't step back. "Yes, one day. You've been trying for how long, six years now? I wish you every success."_

_He shook her. He wanted to bite her cheek, viciously, and see the blood running down to her chin, until she felt the pain he felt. The pain he had caused her as well._

_Behind them, a door opened. They immediately leapt apart, scared that they'd be caught. As_ _always._

Maekar startled awake and instinctively reached for someone who was no longer there. A moment later, reality came back and he drew his hand back. He tried to remember when this conversation had taken place. Had it _ever_ taken place? It must have been sometime before Aelinor's accident, when her body was still obedient and her personality vibrant, when she still hoped she might finally, finally have some kind of a normal life with Aerys and he was trying his best to have this with Naeryn. It worked for a while – until he came to King's Landing and his eyes fell on Aelinor. Years of their lives had gone like this – in fighting, denial, guilt, and ever the fear that they'd be caught.

For a while, he lay awake, trying to go back to sleep, to dream of her again. Even the dreams of their fights were better than the reality in which she was no more. But sleep did not come to him again this night.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

"The Iron Bank agreed to the delayed payment," the Master of Coin said and wiped the sweat off his brow.

All around the chamber, there were sighs of relief. Some actually wanted to read the letter that had just arrived via raven. "So we'll manage to scrape by without increasing taxation," the man went on.

"We couldn't have taken anything more," Aegon said. "We simply can't take what people do not have to give us."

A few of the older men shared a look. The Prince was a really weird one, with his affection for the smallfolk. It was a good thing to take care of those, surely, but he was talking as if he knew firsthand what their lives were like.

"We could use the money for some much needed renovations in the host," the King's Hand said.

"No way!" Alor Gargalen opposed. "Our first and foremost concern should be fortifying Lannisport once again. Without that, we're defenceless to anyone who decides to invade."

"There hasn't been any news of a planned invasion…"

"Which isn't the same as knowing that there isn't any invasion planned."

The two men kept arguing and soon, Aegon found himself too tired to pay attention to the arguments they kept throwing at each other. It had been a long day, the Council had been in session since early in the morning and it was already almost dark. They were all tired and thus more edgy than they should have been. No agreement would be reached today, yet no one dared suggest that they close the meeting. The King was as short-tempered as they had ever seen him. It was only now that everyone really appreciated what a calming influence Aelinor had been on him. She had interceded with him for lords and citizens, smoothed tensions between his sons and him and, at one unforgettable instance, between him and Duncan. She had never been averse to shouting back at him. She had been the only one who had dared and strangely enough, he had not been so prone to losing it. Now, though, his weary indifference to anything was interrupted by unexpected outbursts of intolerance to any stupidity. Suddenly, Aegon wished he could be in his chambers and talk with Rhae about insignificant things over a goblet of wine. The few hours that he would have to wait suddenly seemed so very long. He wanted to see her, listen to her voice and remember that there was more to the world than war and taxes, and starvation.

Something in his father's haunted expression told him that Maekar had felt the same about Aelinor.

Maekar gave him a faint smile. "You'd better get used to this," he said. Not for a first time, he was implicitly referring to his youngest son's possible future of a ruler and as much as he did not fervently desire the crown, Aegon had gotten used to the idea that it might be his future one day.

"But not today," he said and wondered whether he should try to use his father's higher spirits and talk to him about Bloodraven again. No matter what, the man was still innocent. Only, their earlier attempts to make their father see reason had drawn blank. Maekar had spoke sharply even to his daughters - something that Aegon couldn't remember ever having happened before.

Too soon, it became clear that now, they had more pressing concerns. A raven. An urgent message about a new rebellion.

They were at war once again.


	15. Chapter 15

_A month later…_

The laugher was the first thing that caught Maekar's attention. Children who were giggling. He hadn't heard that for so long. Deciding that he could seek out his Master of Ships a little later, he went down the hallway and stopped at the door of the solar in his daughter and goodson's private chambers. The giggling was coming from there.

"Be serious," Daella scolded but by the sound of her voice, Maekar could say that she was fighting hard to stay serious herself. He pushed the door open and the group startled. His daughter was about to rise but he stopped her.

"No, Daella," he said and looked at the man who was giving dark looks to both him and Daella. ""What do we have here?"

"Your Grace," the man, probably Daella's age, interrupted. "I am trying to _work_ here!"

"I won't disturb you," Maekar promised and tried not to look the children in the eyes because he knew they would start giggling again and making faces at him.

It was obvious that the man, short, stout, golden-haired and extremely disheveled, was some kind of painter, albeit not exactly. He was carving on a sheet of silver in golden frame – Daella and the three children. Her arms were thrown around the two elder boys, her own sons. Startled, Maekar recognized the youngest one who was looking curiously at the artist from her lap as Aerion's Rhaegar. Now, he remembered that some time after Aerion's death, Daella had started visiting the infant regularly. At one point, she had asked her father to let her take Rhaegar in and he had even let her. But this was too vague in his memory, eclipsed by the shock and wound caused by Aelinor's death. With some shame, he realized that he had not bothered to give the boy more than a fleeting thought. All his hopes and care for his grandchildren seemed to reach no further than Aegon and Rhae's children, as well as Daella's. He made a note to himself to check how the poor girl at Dragonstone was faring.

For now, though, he was intrigued by the painter's strange art. "What are you doing?" he asked. "I've never seen such a thing… This isn't a picture."

"No," the man answered absent-mindedly. "It's an etching. And it's a new art, barely ten-year-old. Don't move, my lady."

Daella obediently stayed where she was, thus prompting the children to do the same. Maekar looked at her. "Is this your first sitting for such an… etching?"

"No," she said. "Well, it's the first etching of me ever. But we've been sitting for Arik for a week. Alor wanted to have an image of us to take with him."

"Etching," her older son laughed. "Sounds so strange! So funny!"

The artist gave him a dark look. "It isn't funny at all. It's an _art_."

"The art of hammer," Mikkel giggled, obviously bored and besides, acting up for Maekar who hadn't spent time with them for quite a while.

It was too much for Arik who stood up in his short height, enraged. "That's enough," he said angrily. "I am canceling the order," he announced and gave Daella a wounded look. "Your Grace, you promised me we wouldn't be interrupted. This is bad for my inspiration."

Maekar stared at him. The short man looked ridiculous, shaking with anger and almost foaming at the mouth. He was quite a sight. Daella quickly looked aside. Maekar knew that she didn't want to affront the artist by laughing.

"You… Arik," he said. "The Princess didn't invite me. I came on my own, or do you imagine that anyone in this palace could refuse _me_ entrance? You shouldn't blame her."

The man was silent, looking impervious. Why, artists were truly temperamental folks, Maekar had known it even as a child in his father's court. They seemed to feel that their talent transported them into another realm where even kings could not override them. When Maekar looked at the etching, he realized that Arik was very gifted indeed. Daella and the children were all clearly recognizable, etched in detail. Even their expressions were caught brilliantly. And that on a small sheet of silver! Now, Maekar remembered that Aelinor had talked to him about this, that she had wanted to give these artists a helping hand, promote their art. There was more to life than bloodshed, pain, regrets and disappointments. There was beauty to it. For the last twelve years, he had just never had the time to stop and see it.

"Arik," he said and heard the note of amusement in his own voice. "Right now, I am behaving like an artist and you are behaving like a king."

The man looked at him intently and then his face suddenly brightened. "Well said, Your Grace. Well, then I suggest each of us start playing his real part, if you don't mind…"

"Could you make another etching?" Maekar asked. "I'd like to have one just like this."

The sitting went on smoothly, Arik seemingly forgotten that only a few minutes ago he had wanted to cancel and praising Daella's "good jaw". When Maekar went out to look for Alor Gargalen at last, he made a few steps in the hallway and chuckled – for first time after Aelinor's death.

* * *

_A week later…_

In the darkness of the Great Sept, the flickering torches turned the stern face of the Father almost into the face of a living man. Outside, the city was quiet. Eerily quiet. Everyone was in the septs, praying to the god of their choosing for keeping them, or their husbands, sons, and brothers safe into the battles that would come with the following day – the day when their army would leave King's Landing to deal with the last ambitious lords who hoped they could improve their standing by supporting the Blackfyres' claims. In fact, they had thrown their lot with someone who would lose. They would only win gallows and pickets for their heads, that was the word that was being deliberately spread all around King's Landing. Not that everyone believed it, of course. The city was flooded with refugees choking out the same old stories about death and fires, and looting. People realized all too clearly that there wasn't any certainty except the destruction that the war would bring them.

The destruction that had already claimed the King's soul.

For a while, Maekar stood, staring at the face of the Father. He didn't kneel to pray to him – he knew that there was no justice in this world, not in war. If there was, the Seven Kingdoms would be finally allowed to heal and he'd be left to have some rest, just a little… but then, he didn't exactly deserve rest, did he? It _was_ just for him to burn his life away in the constant defending of a throne he had never wanted in the first place. But could he really defend it this time? He was old, and tired, and broken. He couldn't let it show. As heavy-hearted and desperate as he was, he knew what a leader's responsibilities were. Not for a moment would he show his men anything else but strength and resolve. He would crush this rebellion as he had crushed all others. And then what? Wait for the next one? It didn't seem as if he had choice. But he couldn't voice it. Saying it in front of anyone, even Galend, would make it real, would mean that he admitted the truth of it and he couldn't bear it. Besides, they could not help him. The only one who could draw the hidden pain out and soothe it, the only one to heal his spirit somewhat was no longer and how fair was _that_? What god, in their cruel sense of humour, would give someone like Aelinor a lifetime of disappointments, a decade of acute physical pain? No, he could not pray to the Father.

He looked at the statue of the Mother and for a moment, he saw not her but his own mother, the long dead Myriah of Dorne. It happened often, these days – he saw more his dead than the living ones. He saw them everywhere – in items that they had preferred, in hallways he had walked with them, in the faces of the children who resembled them. _That's the beginning of the end,_ he had heard the maesters in his father's court often say when he was very young. This thought did not disturb him in the least. It even held a certain appeal. He had stayed here too long, far too long.

He might have prayed to the Mother for compassion for the people who relied on him. But there was somebody already kneeling in front of her altar. A dark-haired woman. A girl.

Alaenys Blackfyre.

As if feeling his eyes on her, she turned her head and was quick to rise. Maekar smiled grimly. "Are you praying for my death, child?" he asked. "If so, you seem to have chosen the wrong deity."

She shook her head. On her breast, the sapphire heart that Maekar had given Aelinor a few years ago pulsed like a real one. "I am praying for no bloodshed," she said. "Your Grace."

It was the first time she addressed him like everyone else did. The first time he felt that her attitude toward him had changed.

She didn't seem to realize what she had said. "No bloodshed…" she murmured again and looked at the statue.

Maekar considered this and left the sept somewhat soothed. If this girl could see past her hatred, there was still hope that others might do the same. Not now, of course, and probably not in Maekar's lifetime. But one day.

When the day was over, though, he went to his chambers, climbed in his lonely bed and felt how doubts and regrets resumed their hold on him. _I should have taken a woman to my bed long ago,_ he thought, knowing that it wouldn't have helped. The only one he had ever really wanted, he could no longer have. And with age, his needs had changed. A mistress could never give him the closeness and rapport that he longed for, especially before leaving for war. Even Naeryn had been unable to, at least entirely. But back then, he had had the comforting feeling that he had someone to return to. It had died along with Aelinor. The world was a bleak and ugly place that held little meaning to him anymore.

* * *

_Six weeks later…_

"The Lothstons betrayed us!" Ser Galend whispered, reigning his horse in to stare at the lights of a new war camp on the uplands right before Harrenhall. "Bastards."

"Yes, thank you very much, Ser, for informing me. I had no idea…" Maekar snapped, his mind fervently working over the different possibilities. With this betrayal, they would be left in the open, flat field. _I should have known,_ he roared mentally at himself. _The Lothstons betrayed Daemon, so it only made sense that one day, they'd betray us, too._

Behind his back, the echo of his troops' dismay filled his ears. They were not stupid. They knew that fires this numerous could not be Lothston's men preparing to come to their aid. He raised a hand to stifle their murmur. "Lord Lothston betrayed us," he spoke loudly and curtly. His voice carried well and the men strained to hear what he would say. "I have no idea what the traitor Haegon Blackfyre promised him but I can tell you what he'll find at the end: the sword of the hangman. He signed his own death warrant and the death warrant of his entire House. It will be obliterated and brought to ruins, Harrenhall given to another House. Because we will win this battle."

The cheer that followed shook the night air. Maekar sighed in relief. He had managed to come back. Whatever his troops had heard about him – that he was practically incapacitated, that his age had finally started to catch up with him, that he wandered around the Red Keep like a ghost, incapable to reconcile himself with Aelinor's loss – had started to slowly lose its cogency in the last few weeks of battles and struggles where he had assumed command as he should have and he did not hold back in the fighting.

Still. Having his men's faith was a good thing. But the enemy's position was much more favourable.

"He isn't stupid, this Haegon Blackfyre," he said later after the supper with his battle commanders. Now, it was only Aegon, Duncan, Galend, and Alor in his tent. "Or maybe it is Bittersteel who isn't stupid," he added after a while. "Our spies say Haegon is his creature, as much as Daemon ever was."

"I find it hardly improbable." There was a hint of bitterness in Ser Galend's voice. "I spent two years as their captive, Maekar," he went on. "I saw them often enough to wonder how someone as brilliant as Daemon Blackfyre could be this susceptible. He was like clay in Bittersteel's hands."

Maekar looked down. He knew that Daemon had wanted to send Galend back to him but Bittersteel had prevailed with the argument that they needn't do Maekar any favours. It was just their rotten luck that Bittersteel had prevailed over Bloodraven at Redgrass Field… and that he was still alive, albeit being very ill for almost as long as Aelinor. _He can't be trusted to die on time,_ Maekar thought angrily. _He'll stay alive to torment my family long after I am gone_ …

Duncan suddenly laughed. "In the time-honoured custom of the Blackfyres, they now have a marriage proposal thrown into the mix," he said and looked at his uncle. "I got to know about it earlier today. It seems the pretender intends to wed Aunt Daella as soon as he mounts the Iron Throne."

Alor shook his head and smiled a little. "He seems to have forgotten that Daella is already wed," he said. "Or maybe this won't be a problem once she's a widow?" He smiled again. "I cannot say I blame him that he's a man of good taste enough to fall in love with her. Ah the woe is me. It isn't easy being wed to a beautiful princess."

Maekar shook his head. He knew they were just trying to ease the shock of the betrayal and the anxiety of the forthcoming battle which they felt would be the last one… for now. His eyes went to the silver sheet with Daella and the children's images on it. During the last weeks, he had stared at it hundreds of times. As always, he felt somewhat soothed.

Still, there was something that didn't give him peace.

"Who does he resemble?" he asked. Everyone gave him a blank look. "Haegon. We all saw him in battle. He is a formidable warrior. At first, I thought he resembled his father and he does, much. But that's not it. He doesn't have much of Bittersteel's style either. I can't help but wonder…"

"Do you, really?" Aegon asked. "I thought it was obvious."

"It isn't if I need to ask," Maekar replied sharply.

Ser Galend refilled his goblet with water. "Don't you see?" he asked. "He is you."

* * *

_The next mornng…_

It was a lovely winter day. The ice had melted into sludge but at least there wouldn't be any slippings onto an ice crust. The sky was clear, the sun gave a soft shining, like a caress. Far away the smooth expanse of Gods Eye was covered with twinkling diamonds, calm, not disturbed by a single ripple. It was as if nature itself had gone silent, waiting for the storm.

Duncan Targaryen grinded his teeth. He had never visited the Riverlands before and it had been dark at their arrival. Only now he could really see how unfavourable their position was. The Blackfyre troops had taken all the uplands, dug entrenchments, made everything to further enforce their own position. Duncan immediately saw that the enemy's right wing seemed to be their weakest point – if anything, their own best men stood right opposite to them, instead of staying with the King. It couldn't have just happened. _It must have been Grandfather's order,_ the young Prince thought. _What does he have in mind?_ He asked his father who only shrugged helplessly. "He didn't say. Even Ser Galend doesn't know and let's face it, if someone is private to most of your grandfather's thoughts, it's him."

"Curiosity isn't a virtue," Maekar said from behind them, startling them both. They moved their horses aside so his could go slightly ahead. He looked all over the place that would soon become a battlefield, from the Blackfyre's tent with the standard with the black dragon to his own left wing, the Dornishmen led by his goodson Alor Gargalen. The King's visor was not closed, so they could see that his eyebrows were knitted but he was composed. "But I'll tell you anyway: I think that today, I'll have the chance to test an old theory of Fireball's."

That didn't leave better informed but it seemed it was the best they would get. "Take care," he said. "Don't take risks."

And the conversation was closed.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

Was he wrong? What if he was? Maybe he should have kept his own seasoned men with him and tried to attack? He had taken a terrible risk and the outcome still wasn't clear. He had been so confident last night… what if he was wrong? That might cost him his throne. Worse, it might cost him the lives of everyone he loved. _My fault,_ he suddenly heard. _I taught him that great prizes don't come without great risks… but I didn't teach him where he should stop._ Was it the faint breeze, or the echo of the battle around him that blew in King Daeron's long forgotten voice?

A quick look showed him that Aegon was still fighting. Alive. Maekar relaxed a little, although he couldn't see Duncan. He lifted his mace from a head nearby and while the head's owner fell from his horse, Maekar looked around for Duncan again.

No trace of him. Still, it was good to know that the boy wasn't alone. Aegon's huge knight seemed to have appointed himself as Duncan's sword shield, much to the boy's displeasure. And of course, there were two Kingsguard with both Duncan and Aegon, much to the dislike of everyone involved. Aegon, Duncan and Kingsguard alike thought that the white cloaked knights should have stayed with Maekar.

The biggest part of the Blackfyre army still hadn't entered the battle and they were left with the right wing only, Alor's Dornishmen being kept busy by the rebel lords who still dreamed of loot and Dornish blood. And by Maekar's own command, he wasn't as well protected as he should have been. He had sent two other Kingsguard to command a charge of the right wing. The only one left, Ser Roland, gave him a look of great worry. "Your Grace…" he shouted but the rest of his words was drown in the wild cheer of the Blackfyre army.

Maekar did not turn a hair. Just like he had once held till the end on Redgrass Field, at Storm's End, at many other battlefields, he intended to hold back now. At Redgrass Field, they had won but maybe now they would lose. Or maybe not. Soon, it would become clear whether the desperate gamble that he had made would prove winning. He had risked everything based on Daella's words about Haegon and his own memories about Daemon Blackfyre and Aegor Bittersteel.

Suddenly, a new signal echoed all around the battlefield. Haegon Blackfyre led his guards right against Maekar's weakened front. Under his helmet, Maekar smiled. His gamble had paid off, after all. He felt a feeling of great composure washing over him when Haegon loudly challenged him to a single combat. The young man would have done better to let his people continue the charge that would have no doubt led them to victory but no, no son of Daemon Blackfyre could be pleased with just a victory. They needed glory. Haegon wanted to mount the Iron Throne by slaying its current occupant, the Targaryen warrior-king in single combat.

"Your Grace…" Ser Ronald started, terrified, but Maekar waved him off.

 _Galend and Aegon were right, after all_ , he thought after the first blows. It was as if he were fighting his own self, his own instincts. It felt queer. He parried a crushing blow and pain shot through his arm, all the way up to his shoulder but he did not let off the mace. A moment later, he delivered a blow of his own.

Through the opening of the visor, he could see his opponent's eyes. Not purple like Daemon's. Violet, like Maekar's own. They were narrowed, clear, focused and resolved. Maekar looked aside, it felt just too disturbing. A parry, a parry, an attack…

" _If two men meet in battle, two men who are equal in strength and skill,"_ Fireball had told them decades ago. _"The younger one will win because he has greater powers of endurance."_ Maekar soon confirmed for himself that he had no chance to win and probably no chance to survive either, yet he had every intention to wrestle the final victory from their enemy. He had dragged Haegon just where they needed him, out of his relatively secure position among his own ranks. He could not win but he could put up a good fight, so Haegon's next opponent would face someone exhausted and slowed down. An attack and a parry…

* * *

_A few days later…_

"It's so dark," he murmured as soon as he managed to extricate himself from the tangled mess of blood and guilt that were his dreams. "Why is it…"

"Here."

Ser Galend brought a torch near; in its light Maekar could make out the faces hanging over him. Gaunt, pale, worried. But alive. Living.

"What happened?"

"We won," Aegon said softly. "The last Blackfyre Rebellion is over."

Maekar blinked through the pain splitting his head in two. "Haegon…?"

"He's dead. Ser Roland slew him. As soon as his men saw his severed head, they started running away."

So it had worked. Maekar would have smiled, only it hurt too much. He tried to move his head. That also hurt.

"Here, here." Ser Galend touched a cloth to his lips. A wet cloth. He had been reduced to sucking his water from a wet cloth because he couldn't lift his own head. Galend's hand checked his brow for fever. It was cool and soothing. The first truly friendly hand he had known in his life. But he had also known the anger that now burned in the knight's eyes. "What were you _thinking_?"

"Of winning," Maekar answered honestly through the sleepiness overcoming him once again. He didn't want to fall asleep but he knew that this time, there would be no dreams. "I am dying… aren't I?"

Aegon bit his lip. Duncan's eyes became huge and sad. Maekar wanted to reach out for him but his limbs were all too heavy.

"Yes," Aegon said softly. "Yes, you are."

With some detached surprise, Maekar wondered why he was still alive. Maybe Haegon hadn't been so good after all. At the same time, he felt a profound relief. No more nightmares. No more pain. No more responsibilities. No more loneliness.

Still, he had to amend a wrong he had done without thinking twice. "Brynden," he said. "Bloodraven…. You'll release him, won't you? If you… ascend?"

Aegon nodded. "Good," Maekar said. "Send him… to the Wall. Put him under guard if you must. But let him out. I wasn't… just."

Aegon nodded again. He wanted to say that his father would do that himself, later, but he knew it was not so. And besides, Maekar could no longer hear him. He was staring at something that only he could see.

"Come on," Aelinor's voice came, as joyous as it had been before life marked each of them with pain and disappointment. He looked up and she was there, in the full bloom of her youth and beauty, smiling the smile he had once seen every day but hadn't seen in decades. "You know I never liked waiting."

"Yes, I know," he agreed.

"Come on, then. We're all here. All eager to see you again. Come to us. What keeps you there?" she asked and held out a hand. 

Without hesitation, he took her hand and then spared a last glance for the men in the tent who silently closed the eyes of the dead king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of the story but by no means, the end of the series. Thanks to everyone who read A Veil of Prophecy and thank you, Riana 1, for being such a loyal reviewer. I hope you'll have a look at the sequel, A Queen To Be.


End file.
